A New Normal
by Fasnacht
Summary: Sequel to A Better Normal. Sam and Jake are parents. Jake is trying to learn to be a father and to rebuild his professional life after risking it all to save Sam and Quinn, and Sam is trying to figure out what it really means to balance motherhood and save the wild horses. The altered timeline of ABN is followed and updates can be expected weekly.
1. Chapter 1

**In which time has passed, but very little of note has changed... **

Sam wiped spit-up off of her shirt, and tried to clean the breastmilk off of Margaret's little sweater Gram had made her. It was impractical and soft and fluffy and perfect. She protested being denied the chance to return to her food source, like she hadn't just spat it out. Her indignant yell turned to a snuffle as Sam pulled away her sweater, leaving the onsie in place as she latched back on. Sam cradled her head carefully as she asked Jen to share her thoughts, "Well?"

Louisa's head turned to look at the source of the loud sound, sharply, and she said, "Eeee..." She looked at her mother, and and at her sister. She was fairly happy with Jen, and decided that the iPad in Jen's other hand was much more interesting than her sister's drama.

Jen pulled her iPad away from Louisa gently, so that she would stop trying to drool on the cover, and kissed her fluffy head before she spoke. Jen hadn't yet learned that there was no escaping baby drool. "You need to find a publisher."

"It's just notes." Sam shook her head, "An outline of what I would say, not what I did say." Sam was really thinking about getting started, though, and she wanted to know if Jen thought it was worthwhile.

Sam held onto Maggie. Maggie knew the truth about her writing. She had sat on her mother's lap, snored away in her sling, while Sam had pecked out a word using one hand. Margaret wiggled her toes, and Sam marveled at them. The girls were growing so quickly.

Not for the first time, Sam asked herself how had she found the time to write anything down. Sam figured sleep depravation and an absolutely messy house had to count for something. A lot of what she wrote in the document Jen was reading was passive-voiced, ramblings, scribblings she'd jotted down during nap time or when she couldn't do another bit of paperwork or when Jake was being annoying, and she hid away for exactly seven minutes, because nobody went seven minutes around here without deciding that she needed to hear what they had to say. That wasn't the real story. The real story was hidden away in her Google Docs, under the name of the number of pages in the draft. The story didn't have a name. Naming it seemed so pretentious. It was just a little bit of her life with the Phantom that she wanted her girls to have, one day.

Jen shifted Louisa, and said to her, "LouLou, tell your mommy she is a writer, and she's going to make the big bucks and hire you a nanny. Then Mommy is not going to feel guilty about going out once and a while."

"I go out." Sam frowned as Jen got the toy, "It's just...they don't like the bottle, and I...I miss them, when I can't see them."

She did go out. She went grocery shopping, and to church. She went places. Sam didn't mind that the girls went along. They needed to learn, see the world, or what there was of it within a 50 mile radius of their living room. Her alone time was with the horses.

Margaret was done gumming at her, and Sam finished the process, shifting her with a word of praise to her shoulder. She was getting to be such a fluffball, what with her hair sticking up all the time, no matter what she did to smooth it.

"They would learn to like it." Jen returned, although Sam knew that she was as much a pushover as anybody when it came to the girls. She talked a better game, was all.

Louisa didn't take kindly to the nickname, and made her wishes known. Sam shifted Margaret easily, and held them both, glad for the practice. "Don't you listen to your looney aunt Jen." She teased her best friend as the girls looked at each other, clearly agreeing that Aunt Jen had finally lost it and betrayed them by not being a good minion. At least their mother knew how things went in the Forster-Ely household, "You don't have to like the bottle. You must eat your squash, though."

Margaret grabbed some of her mother's hair, and looked at her sister again. Sam gently removed her fingers from her hair. She hadn't pulled it, only touched it. "Yes, the yucky squash."

They had apparently made a pact that there would be no squash in their lives. Sam was waiting a few days and planned to try it again. Jake had been so excited that squash was up, after the rice cereal and breast milk mixtures, and they hadn't thought much of it.

Sam stood, and looked at Jen, "Would you spread out that blanket, please?"

Jen did so easily, and Sam put the girls down to have some tummy time. She and Jen sat on the floor. "Sam. Be honest with yourself, please."

Sam frowned and made a block squeak. She didn't want to talk about this. It was a little much. Things needed to percolate, still.

Louisa was interested in the blue, squishy square, whereas Margaret simply played around on her crinkle book with abandon. "I am not looking to publish them. They're just something for the girls to have. I'm not creative enough for fanfiction, let alone my own stuff, and I have to do something when Trudy has nothing for me, and Jake worked so hard on that flash drive, you should see it, and I just..."

Sam shifted uncomfortably. She had thought about submitting things to the magazines, somehow, as a way to help the wild horses. Maybe her story would help people to engage more fully with their plight. Sam knew that she would lay herself bare for the wild horses, if only their was a venue for her tales.

"You need to think about the work you've done." Jen asserted. "I went into your GoogleDocs and read the whole thing, not just that bit you sent to me now." Jen didn't look one bit sorry as she reached for a diapered bottom as Margaret moved away.

Sam felt a bit sick to her stomach. Jen's reaction seemed positive, though. Sam figured if she ignored it, Jen wouldn't comment or pick it apart. Jen said nothing of the sort.

Sam arched an eyebrow. She tried not to let that break as they fussed over Louisa rolled over very intently, in order to grab at the corn cob shaped teether. Still, how could she not smile and praise that action? When Louisa was done basking in praise, and Margaret was pushing at the lamb doll that chimed when she touched it, looking like she knew she was epic and all that was cool, Sam looked back at Jen.

Jen smoothed back her blonde hair, fixed her glasses, and asked, "You know what you're going to do about it?"

Sam grinned, "What?" The cat bounded into the room, and took watch over his charges. He knew that he was to get Sam if anything funny began around here, not that he ever did. He was the mayhem culprit around here.

"You're going to go upstairs, take a shower, put on an outfit that doesn't include that yoga skirt of yours, and get ready to go." Jen ordered, "Meanwhile, I am going to play blocks, and wrangle babies and a round lamb thing, and work on my master plan."

Sam considered this statement of facts. "Margaret, Louisa, you be sure and tell me anything she says." Sam looked over at them, hoped they wouldn't get upset when she left, and made sure that everything they could possibly choke on was far, far away, in a single glance. What she missed in that glance sealed her fate, for Jen had her plotting face on as she winked at the twins.

* * *

Jake listened as Sam hauled him to the next stall, her steps annoyed and harsh to anyone who really knew how to read her body language. "...and she just won't shut up about it!"

Jake considered his options. He could lie, and soothe Sam's very ruffled feathers, but then he would have to tell her truth later, and that wasn't an idea he relished, if only because it would require more words to state the obvious, tell Sam what she clearly knew and was choosing for some unknown reason to blatantly ignore. He could tell the truth baldly, and rile her up, so that she stomped on his foot with those flats of hers, or he could find some way to walk that middle road and hopefully not end up a burnt pile of ash when she breathed fire on him.

There were options, and he wasn't quite sure what to do. He rubbed the back of his neck reflexively. "Uhh..."

Sam stopped looking at the craft fare wares in the crowded community gym. She was looking at a homemade candle in the shape of an apple pie, complete with wax apple slices and lattice work on the crust. A lock of hair fell over her shoulder as she glared up at him. She knew. How she knew without him making up his mind should have figured. "I am in hell."

She turned away before the artisan could make her way to them and make a sale, and all but plowed across the gym towards the door. Jake finally had to say something. The pastor was looking their way, after all, and Jake did not want to become a sermon example. That had happened one too many times over the course of his lifetime, and Jake had promised himself that that stopped the second he left for college. There was things a man was not willing to put up with as an adult, and being sermon fodder was one of one. Temper tantrums from a grown up woman with a dramatic streak the size of Wyoming were another. "Would you stop?"

Quinn glanced at Sam's passing form, laughter in his eyes. For the billionth time, Jake had somehow found himself trailing after her, wondering how on earth they'd ended up here, again. Mostly he didn't mind it much, he never really did, but he'd be darned if he was going to put up with her temper because of Jen.

Sam had made it to the doorway, then, past the balloons and the booster mothers selling raffle tickets. In the hallway, by the water fountains, she tapped those flats against the tile. "You agree with her."

Jake did not contest that statement. He stood firm. He was entitled to his opinion. The story she had written about the Phantom was amazing. It was her heart on the page. It was deft and beautiful. Jake had been there, been by her side, for God's sake, and he found himself back there, reading her words. He saw her soul in those words. How could he not love every bit of it, even the occasional comma splice? They were a piece of her soul. "Do you want some fudge?"

Sam blew out a steadying breath, pushed the heavy weight of her hair over her shoulder. "You agree with Jen about my notes."

"Book." Jake corrected, before he could stop himself. She did not need to devalue her work, and he wasn't going to be a party to it. He was guessing that that was a no on the fudge, then. He could always get some later, once she stopped being so dramatic about facts. She was a good writer who had written something worth reading. Why she felt this need to minimize it was beyond him.

Sam worked her jaw, waiting until a gaggle of people passed them by. There was music filling the hallway, the heady sound of drums and joy filling the air. "It is not..."

There was an almost earsplitting noise from Jake's right. He knew who it was without looking. Gram had too many friends. Billie Mates breezed their way, her rotund form filling their space. "Oh, look who it is!" Jake knew he was set to be totally ignored. The woman barely spared him a glance as she looked around, "Oh, let me get a look at those girls of yours!"

Sam smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "They're not here tonight, Billie. But thank you for..."

And just like that, Billie cut Sam off, "I know how it is, just wanting an hour of peace. I remember those days. Why when Monica was..." Jake figured at this point it was safe to tune the woman out and seek out Quinn's location in the fudge line.

She smiled, and chatted a little at them, and went on her way when her husband called her name, with a big plate of chicken in his hands. "Oh, I must be off! Tell the girls I said hello! Enjoy your peace and quiet!"

Jake saw Quinn ask him a question and held up two fingers in response. Quinn was next in the fudge line, and if anybody thought that Jake was not getting fudge because Jen decided to violate Sam's privacy, and Sam wouldn't talk it out with the person who had read her work, they both had another thing coming. Quinn got their fudge, holding the bag to his body like someone was liable to knock him to the ground over it. Jake knew that he'd gotten both boxes of peanut butter cup, then. That stuff was hard to come by, as it sold out quickly.

When Billie was out of earshot, Sam let out the reply she had been holding back valiantly. "This is supposed to be fun?"

Jake tried to suppress a smile when he saw that Quinn was heading their way, behind Sam, with a big bag of fudge. It faltered when he saw the pastor staring at them intently, with his sermon writing face on. Jake knew that approaching the man now was a bad idea. He was not sermon fodder. This was just great. He was going to be the talk of church again.

Oh, the pastor never used names, tried to keep his observations vague, but how many times could he come up with ways to express what he'd seen, to a roomful of people who knew just who he had seen? It had stopped working at about five or six, Jake figured.

Quinn finally got there, and Jake wanted to rip the bag out of his hands. He was trying not to laugh. Jake knew that Quinn had seen the pastor observing them, and making sermon notes. Wasn't that a bit creepy? It was not cool to have your entire life documented in one man's sermons, as though he and Sam were some couple version of Goofus and Gallant.

Quinn spoke, "So. We're hiding in the hallway." He was teasing and sly, "Aren't you a little old for dark corners of the community gym?"

Jake remembered, suddenly, Quinn and Sarah rushing around this same event years ago. Jake realized that he was making fun of himself and that changed the retort that Jake had been about to give him. Jake ached for his brother's loneliness in that moment.

"I am not hiding." Sam disagreed. "I'm having a discussion, which you interrupted." There was no malice in her tone. She wanted Quinn around, of course. She wanted to finish this conversation, and that was just fine with him. He wanted to table this, agree to disagree, and go on with the evening. It hurt that Sam didn't see the value of her efforts, but it was her work, and if she wanted to shove it in a drawer, that was her business.

"But I have fudge." Quinn raised the bag, "If we're smart, we'll go to the truck and divide this out before we go home and Dad eats it all."

Sam reached out for the bag, "Did you get the Kit Kat kind?" Quinn let go of it, and Sam opened the bag more fully. Why did she get the bag? And who cared about the Kit Kat fudge? That wasn't the question here. Jake was frustrated, as Sam headed towards the exit. At least, he thought, she had forgotten about lighting into him.

* * *

Louisa was asleep, after having decided to air every grievance she could come up with in the span of an hour and half of fussiness. Nothing suited her, until she finally dropped off into sleep, mid-yell. It would have been scary, had not known to expect it. Margaret was almost asleep.

Sam supposed they were bad parents. She just didn't have the heart to put them in the crib wide away, and let her drift off. Sam would never, ever, let them cry something out, but she knew that she was pushing the limits of her own sense of moderation. Then again, some parents hated cribs. So Sam figured they were functional and healthy, and that it worked. She just didn't want to miss the last few minutes of their days. Margaret made a snuffly noise against her father's shoulder, and Sam wondered what she would dream about.

This whole parenting thing gave them time to talk. They spent a lot of time in relatively confined spaces, either talking to the twins or staring at each other. So in that sense, the proximity had been good for their marriage. Prior to having the kids, they had rarely spent extended periods of time in each other's presence with nothing to do, well, at least they hadn't done so in a long time.

Sam knew she had to be honest. She had been thinking about this for hours. "I really like what I wrote, you know."

Jake looked surprised at that She knew she was a prideful person at moments, puffed up about things. It was only that he needed to understand something she had come to realize only recently. "You should."

Sam tucked her knees underneath her, and stopped folding laundry. There were never ending piles of it. Who was the idiot that had decided they needed to cloth diaper, Sam wondered, as she tried to order her thoughts. "But you have to understand. It's...it's a part of me." It was a tangible, vulnerable part of her thoughts, her heart. She was very worried about what people would see in it. It was like standing naked in the middle of the room, pointing out every weak spot, flaw, and point of pride in her body, in the loudest voice she could muster. Rejection scared her almost as much as people embracing it did, "I don't want people to see it, pick at it, because I love it. I'm not going to toss it out there like it doesn't matter, like it's not the Phantom's story. What if I got the Phantom hurt somehow? What if..." What if people liked it? What if they said...

Understanding dawned on Jake's face. "That's exactly why you can't just let this go by, Sam. It matters, and I've never known you to back down from something that matters." He was kind, gentle, but utterly convicted. How could he have such faith in her abilities? She'd written the story in six months, starting the week after the twins had come home, because she had wanted to find a way to make sense of all of the emotions coursing in her veins.

"You honestly think I should roll with this?" Sam had thought about it, from time to time, in the dark of the night. Her story, maybe, could really help the wild horses, raise their profile. She had tried to make the story factual, but interesting. She had tried to tell her story in the way she would want it to be told. She had started writing one day, and just hadn't stopped. The words poured out of her, and in those moments, she had felt a connection to her past self in a way that felt so challenging. She was being brutally honest about herself, to herself, and trying to find the meaning of it all as she did so. It had been a challenging process, but when she looked at the document on the page, she knew that her words meant something, if only to her. It was a part of her on the page, and it would live forever, if only on her hard drive, a testament to the girl she had been and the woman she was trying to become.

She had thought about pushing onward, trying to market it to a serial magazine, or an online publication or something. She wanted to help save the wild horses. She would never be a fantastic cowgirl, advocating out on the range, or an academic. She was just a rancher's daughter from Northern Nevada, who worked part time at a rescue, and took on cases when she could. Gram had always told her that to whom much was given, much was expected, meaning that if she had a talent, it should be used in the service of others. If she believed that her writing could do that, she would share it gladly. It just wasn't that stellar. She was no journalist of note, even if she had started writing a bit for the local paper when they had a gap.

Teresa and she had struck up a friendship, and in those months, Sam replied their conversation in the cafe a thousand times. She had even gone so far as to listen to the tape recording. Teresa had insight, and she was forever emailing Sam, asking her when she was going to write that book. Sam always replied that she was too busy with Trudy's rescue efforts, but the truth was, Sam had often replied after writing a little bit. It was a lie that loomed between them.

She had been so afraid to even mention her writing to anyone. Jake knew. He had always known. The family had slowly put things together, or found out on their own. She knew, Jake knew, and Quinn knew for sure. Sam was pretty sure that Max knew, because Sam had never been able to hide anything from her or Gram. It felt like an elephant in the room. And even talking about it now made her feel odd. It was hard not to guard the words she had written for her daughter's eyes. It was even more challenging to see them in a new light, a light that suggested other people might find value in them.

Jake tilted his head, cuddled Maggie, who gripped her father's shirt, as though he was the one solid thing in her little world right now. Sam understood the feeling. "It only matters what you think, Sam. But yeah..." He paused for a second, his mustang eyes vibrant in the low lamplight of their messy living room, "Yeah, I believe that if you want this, you're going to make it happen. The only thing stopping you is you."

"I just..." Sam tried to steady her racing heart, "I'd have to ask the Phantom. It's his story, not mine, and I won't do anything else without his blessing."

Jake knew what she meant. "I'm going to go put her down." As he stood up easily, he looked square at her, seemingly communicating that he knew just where she was heading.

Sam hadn't meant she was going to go tonight, to seek out the Phantom. She hadn't meant that at all. It was only something she was thinking on, not something she was set on doing. She had to figure out what she wanted out of this, if anything. "I'm not sure..."

Jake looked almost sad as he said, "It seems it's a pretty clear night for thinking on things." He was halfway up the stairs before Sam realized that he didn't expect that she would follow him. Sam looked around the living room, at the pile of clean laundry on the chair, and made up her mind.

Sam was glad that she was dressed as she moved towards the steps. Her boots were on the bottom stair, to be carried upstairs. She grabbed her boots from the stair, grabbed her hat from the peg, and grabbed her phone from the bowl by the door. Her jacket was on in a flash, and she was shrugging on her boots and tugging up the laces as she hopped across the ranch yard, a full moon lighting her path. The sounds of bugs filled her ears in the spring night, barely drowning out the sound of her racing heart.

**You didn't think I was going to leave this 'verse forever, did you? :) **

**Hopefully, I'll update weekly. That means shorter chapters (~4k words, give or take), and lots of adventures. **

**Please review. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Please PM or review if you can't see all 5600 words. **

April slowly faded into May, and Jake discerned that this summer was going to be awful. He wasn't someone who shied away from the heat, but the weather was brutal for May. It was already overly warm in that baked alive way, when just weeks ago, it had been freezing. He rolled back his sleeves, as he turned to the window closest to his desk. He was trying to get it open when Lymon spoke, "We do have central air."

Jake knew that it wasn't turned on right now. If Lymon had listened at the briefing this morning, he would know that, but the man never listened to anything, so he didn't know anything. It didn't bear repeating. Jake was on a tight leash with Ballard. Ballard, after he came back, had all but put him in the corner with a dunce cap. Jake had been summarily partnered with Lymon, and though Ballard never said it, Jake knew that Ballard was determined that he learn some lesson he had failed to grasp before the twins were born and he'd gone and blown the case wide open. Jake didn't know what that lesson was, but Ballard wouldn't budge, wouldn't say a word about it.

Jake had been trying to find solid ground with Lymon since he'd had Sam's back that night in the hospital. It only seemed right, and at the very least, he owed the man respect for doing his job correctly. It was tougher, though, now that they were partners. "The window's fine."

Jake propped the window open with an old phone book, and turned back to his desk. It was crowded with paperwork. He figured that if he were going to get anything done, then he needed to clear it off. The office was pretty much deserted, and he was on phones. They had a secretary, but she worked half-days, and he was the low man on the pecking order. Lymon got to review case files, and he got to work on his follow-ups and answer phones.

Jake was halfway through the mess on his desk when Lymon spoke, "Look at this file."

Jake didn't much like the man's tone. Just because he had been assigned as the man's partner, did not mean that it gave Lymon the right to boss him around. He wasn't some trainee. In fact, the nature of their relationship should denote some kind of equality, even if Lymon did have seniority. Jake flipped his own file, to make it clear that he was working. "Hold on."

Jake heard the scrape of the chair on the floor, heard Lymon close the tiny space between their desks, felt him enter his space, but he didn't look up. Maybe he was being an ass, but Lymon wasn't going to get a lackey out of him, no matter what anyone else might say around here. He put the file down on top of Jake's workspace with some force. "You might learn to put aside your petty desire to prove things and actually prove them by doing your job."

Jake just raised an eyebrow. He wasn't above telling somebody to screw themselves when they needed to hear it, but sometimes the effort just wasn't worth it. "Now that you walked all the way over here, you want to tell me what this is about?"

"Vandalism." Lymon said, swigging some water from a styrofoam cup. Agricultural theft was a big deal in Darton county, as was agricultural vandalism. It looked like someone's grape arbor's had been ripped down. The pictures and reports painted a pretty poor picture.

Jake looked at the address on the sheet. "It's only a two-hour drive." He only had a little while left on the phones, and by the time they arranged things, his shift on the phones would be over.

* * *

She never sent the manuscript. She had talked about it, sure, thought about it, totally. She had worried over it, puzzled over it, had even formatted it for sending, but she had always put it aside. She had really, really, considered doing it, but she had never, never, pushed that button. She had never heard her computer make the whooshing sound it made when she sent out her story. Sam knew she had not sent the email. And yet, she was staring at a reply to an email that she had never sent.

_Sam- _

_ Thanks for sending me your manuscript! I loved it. Please call me. I have a few ideas. _

_ I just knew you were writing it. _

_ Teresa _

The lights above her head shone brightly and Sam was utterly certain that the letters on the screen boiled down to a truth that Sam could not bring himself to internalize. She was standing in the grocery store, pushing a twin stroller, trying to hold onto her phone and her basket as she waited in the checkout line. Sam couldn't feel her feet. How could Jen have done this to her? Not even Jake had her Google password.

"Sam!" Nettie Lewis, a friend of the family from years back, called her name. Sam looked up from her phone and saw that the woman ahead of her had vacated the lane with her massive order, and Sam was next.

Sam put her basket on the belt dumbly, feeling like every kind of a fool. She had had no idea that Jen would ever...could ever...

As Nettie put her order through, Sam checked the email. Below Teresa's message, there was a simple email from Sam's account that included a link to a GoogleDocs file, and a smiley face. It was Jen's doing, Sam knew. Sam knew.

Sam knew because Jen was the only person who would have access to her Gmail, access to her Google Account, or the information in her life to know where she was planning, where she was thinking, about sending her manuscript. Jen knew every bit of her thought process, and she had made a choice that she had no right to make.

She looked down and made sure that she had in fact read that Jen had betrayed her. She had been betrayed by Jen. Sam tried to hold it together as she checked out, put the girls in the car, tightened seat belts, by rote, and threw groceries in the trunk of the Volvo. She gripped the wheel tightly as she drove towards home.

Margaret woke up, the shift in movement interrupting her sleep cycles. Sam glanced at the clock and realized that she had spent too long in the grocery store, and that they needed to eat, fairly soon. Sometimes, she was just utterly desperate to get out of the house that she went and wandered around the grocery store for far longer than was actually necessary.

She wasn't sure exactly what to do here. She figured she needed to go to the source and figure out why Jen had done what she had done. Unfortunately, Jen was in San Francisco. Sam couldn't exactly show up there, on her doorstep. In the first place, she didn't have enough diapers with her to make a bolt for the state line. In the second place, she was pretty sure she was going to kill Jen.

Sam didn't go home. She was not capable of being alone right now. She was utterly sure that she would do something rash, like call Jen and demand to know what she had done. She passed the turn-off for Three Ponies and sighed.

Sam parked Brynna in, and figured that her groceries would survive. She lifted the girls out of the car, closed the door with her body, and carried both car seats towards the door. Her jeans felt heavy against her skin, as every nerve in her body was weighed down with worry. Once she was up the steps, she kicked at the door, gently, trying to knock. No one answered the door. Sam knocked on the screen door with her boot with slightly more force.

Margaret whimpered for attention. "Look at Bugsy, baby. See his colors?" Sam moved around a bit, so that the bug attached to Margaret's carseat would move and she might become more interested. For the moment, Margaret was mollified by its jingling.

This was just not her day. Sam felt utterly defeated. How could Jen betray her like this, betray the Phantom, betray their home, like this? Sam blinked back tears. It was settling down over her like a black cloud. She knew that nothing Jen said would change her actions in Sam's eyes. Sam had trusted her, and she had violated that trust. Sam wasn't sure there would be any way to absolve this. Sam had trusted Jen with the Phantom's story, with the power to see into her soul, and Jen had forwarded it around like chain mail.

The door opened at that moment. She supposed, later, that she must have looked a terrible sight to her father through the screen door. "Sam?" He stood there, stepped back, and took Louisa's seat from her right hand as she passed him on her way to the table.

She put down Margaret's seat gently, and wiped the tears off of her face with her forearm. She bit down, hard, on her wobbling lip. She was not going to cry in front of her father. There were things Sam was not willing to do, and she was simply not going to cry over this in front of her father. She wasn't the sort who cried, anyhow, but she knew that not even this would be understandable. Sam figured that practical advice was the way to go. "If somebody you loved violated your trust and betrayed you, what would you do?"

Dad's face grew cloudy as she finished speaking. "Just what are you talking..."

He stopped talking because Margaret occasional bids for attention grew into a steady wail that would shake a house down. Sam simply hadn't moved fast enough to appease her. She was no longer pacified by her toy on her carseat, not that Sam could blame her, exactly. A crinkly bug only held so many mysteries. There were colors and patterns and shapes on the ant. It blurred in Sam's eyes as she bent down to unclip the carseat, and scoop Margaret out of it, gently.

"Do you want some cereal?" Sam looked around realized that she had left the bag in the car. Sam sniffed, and looked to her father, over Margaret's fussing, "I'm going to get their bag."

Dad had a funny look on his face as he surveyed her, "I think you left some here." Sam shifted Margaret against her shoulder, making soothing sounds, praying that she would calm a bit and not wake her sister.

Sam hated it when she cried. She got this personally offended look on her face, like Sam had lit the lamb doll on fire, and laughed gleefully about it as she danced around its burning lambish body. "Hey, it's not so bad." Sam tried to soothe her, and she snuffled pitifully. "You've got to be calm if you want lunch." Her tiny little back was tense with indignation as Sam tried to pat her.

Sam tried to soothe her as she fumbled around the kitchen, looking for a small bowl, and the box of cereal. She found what options she had here, together, in the snack cupboard. There were puffs and mums-mums, but no actual food. Gram had rearranged the kitchen, and she was at church now.

Sam saw that she hadn't left any cereal here, but she knew there would be sweet potatoes in the fridge. She honestly felt like just she should just toss their schedule out of the window and nurse, and when there were no vegetables to beg, borrow, or steal, she sighed, let the door shut, and went off to the living room, Margaret not at all pleased with the delay in her lunch.

Their schedule was now shot. That made Sam feel even worse about herself. She knew that normally she would be able to roll with the punches, but after finding out what Jen had done, she felt like she was at the end of her rope. It was clear that she had to figure this out, that she could not hide away in her bed. Sam turned Margaret around so that should move more easily.

Margaret was making grabbing motions when Sam sat down in the big chair in the living room. Margaret was still making her fury known, like she had been crying for decades rather than two minutes. "I'm sorry." Sam apologized, hating the look on her face. Sam was glad for the the roominess of her henley. She crossed her legs, criss-cross, leaning against the back of the chair, used the transitional hold that still comforted Margaret, even though she no longer had much trouble latching on. "What did your father put on you this morning?" Sam looked at her outfit with a smile. The sleeper was meant to be pajamas, not day clothes, and Sam hadn't noticed before leaving the house.

Margaret blinked up at her, as if to shush her mother as she drew in her sustenance. She was eating now, there was no time for small-talk, really. Sam's fingers cradled the back of her head. She had grown so much, and that hair of hers was so funny. It stuck up at all angles, and she liked to make it worse by playing with her hair, rubbing it when she was tired or stressed. She seemed to have somehow ended up with dark hair, like Jake's, but the texture of her hair. Sam almost pitied her girls, but she knew they would hopefully learn from her mistakes with her own hair, or at least laugh at the stories. She and Jen had laughed so many times over her stupid hair failures.

And just like that, Sam's aching heart spilled over. She sniffed, drawing Margaret's attention. She was determined not to cry in front of the children. She had dripped tears on the girls in the early days of their lives, when she was overwhelmed, and Jake was overwhelmed, and crying was the only thing that made even a modicum of sense. She had felt badly about it, like a bad mother, and she had promised herself that if she was going to be emotionally honest, she was going to keep a lid on it and not ask a child to experience adult emotions.

After a few minutes, Sam heard Dad start talking to Louisa. He stood in the doorway. Louisa was a happy-camper as she woke up, babbling at her Papa and looking around with wide eyes. "Mmmmmmmm..." she said, her body tense with the joy of making a noise.

She wasn't a Pollyanna, or anything, but she did appear to not be hangry, which Sam didn't mind. One hangry baby with an emotional mess of a mother was enough for anybody. "Are you going to tell me what happened?"

"I have no idea." Sam croaked, "I got some email. I don't even know what to do. How could Jen do this, Dad? She knew what it would mean, and she still did it. I don't understand how she could be so petty. It meant a lot to me. And now I can't trust her."

Admitting that she couldn't trust Jen was incredibly challenging. It broke some part of her soul that she wasn't sure would ever truly heal. "She sent a copy of my book to Teresa." Sam continued, "It wouldn't be so bad, you know, if Tess wasn't in publishing, and if Jen didn't know that I wanted to keep it private."

Dad considered her words, "You have been talking about sending it to Teresa for her input." He sounded like he was breathing differently, oddly relieved, though what there was to be relieved about Sam did not know. A tense line had disappeared from between his forehead. Sam had no idea where he was coming from, what alternative made this look good by comparison.

The Phantom, in a sense, had given his blessing. Sam had felt it in her bones that night. However, she knew that the blessing to use his story to help the wild horses was not a carte blanche to do this, this, whatever it was, without at least discussing it with him. Sam had promised him that nothing would happen without his consent, and Jen knew that! Jen knew more than anybody. She hadn't been able to find him and ask if he was okay with her sending it to Teresa.

Dad sat down, putting Louisa his lap. He seemed to have something to say. "I'm sorry you feel betrayed, Sam." Dad began, "You should give her a call. There has to be something..."

Sam cut him off, using her sleeve to wipe her nose. "She violated my trust in her." There was nothing that would change the past now.

Dad patted Louisa, who was grabbing at his hat. He dutifully handed it over, and Louisa did the sensible thing when encountering an object she wanted to know more about. Her uncoordinated baby hands tugged the dirty hat towards her mouth. It was all Sam could do not to leap out of the chair and pull it away. "Dad!" Sam said.

She softened her voice, "Please don't eat that, Louisa." Louisa wasn't too keen on acting as though she had even heard her mother speak. She gripped the hat with ineffectual baby hands, though it was nearly bigger than she was, even now.

"A little dirt won't kill her, Sam." He took the hat with a word of apology to Louisa. "Blame your Mommy, not me." He seemed to have said all he intended to say to her, for his attention was solely on Louisa. "Do you want a mum-mum, Louisa?"

"Mmmmmmmm..." Louisa made the sound, as her Papa toted her out of the room. She was just babbling, but the look on Dad's face as he left said that he would go to his grave stating otherwise.

Sam got the idea that she was supposed to be thinking about what he had said, but he hadn't said anything. Sam just didn't know what to do. She snuggled Margaret closer, and wished that her life could be as simple as her daughter's lives, at least today. "Life's tough, huh, Mags?" Sam said, as a utter look of satiation rolled across Margaret's once tense features, and Margaret let out a small sigh. Life was tough, indeed.

* * *

Jake tried not to stew on his drive home, after picking up the pizza. He tried not to get angry on Sam's behalf. As the cab of the truck started to fill with the scent of cheesy deliciousness, Jake grew more and more agitated on Sam's behalf. Telling himself this was none of his concern didn't work, hadn't worked since she'd called telling him that he had to figure out dinner if he intended to eat, with that sad note in her voice that said she was trying to hide her pain.

He had to stay out of this, he knew that much. If he'd learned one thing well over the years, he'd learned that if he wanted to live without drama, he needed to stay out of their arguments and their spats. They were pretty solid friends, so he knew that if he said the wrong thing, it only came back to bite him later.

His phone rang, and Jake pressed the speakerphone button as the phone sat on the seat beside him. It was technically something he'd advise people to do, but he wasn't going to skip out on calls right now. "Sam?"

"Declan." The voice on the other end of the line corrected. "I may have a problem."

Jake figured that today was not his day. He tried to put aside everything, and asked, "Need bail or something?" If Declan were in need, seriously, he'd be there, without question. They'd be there, without hesitation. Maybe they'd have extra people along, with more luggage, and different priorities, but they'd be there.

"Can you be serious for two seconds?" Deck said. He was progressing with his new job, getting his feet on the ground and generally doing well, Jake thought. Sam talked about going down to visit, but they hadn't found the time. "I might have to tell Sam she was right, and you know how she gets with things, man."

Jake smiled. Jake knew that Deck said these things with affection, so it didn't raise his hackles. Besides, he could admit easily that Sam had her ways, and her quirks. Most of the time he liked that about her, though, and he knew Deck was on a similar page.

"She might need that right now." Jake admitted. He didn't like sharing family business, but Deck had been his friend for a long time, and he cared about Sam and the girls, too. He had always been one to call and never let too long go by before doing so, even when Jake forgot what day it was, sometimes.

Deck asked, "She's alright?" There was a note of genuine concern in his voice. Jake felt better, because if Deck could worry about her when he didn't know the facts, then Jake knew he was well within his rights to worry, too.

"Just..." Jake didn't know exactly what to say. Deck liked Jen. Jake liked Jen. He didn't like Jen when Jen hurt Sam, but Deck didn't have that same bias. Jake knew that his words might live on longer than this fight. "She and Jen hit a rough patch."

"Oh." Deck said, blowing out. "Yeah. I don't know, man. What happened?"

Jake wasn't going to go into it now. He was kind of hoping that Jen had had good intentions, and taken the bull by the horns when Sam hesitated. It didn't make it right, or even ethical, but he had no idea what Jen's motivations had been. He hoped they were good. He thought that if Sam could figure out why Jen had taken this step, that she would be able to figure out how to respond in a way that was right.

Jake replied, "I'm on my way home now." Jake almost saw the exit now. He shifted lanes, taking care to use his mirrors. "What did you want to tell her?"

"Nothing." Deck said, quickly. "Look, tell Maggie and LouLou we say hi." There was a bit of noise in the background, and Deck repeated something. Jake knew that he had been interrupted. Whatever he had been preparing to say was nothing he wanted Paul to know. Jake figured it must be tough being roommates. "Paul's back. We're getting dinner. He's hungry. We'll talk."

* * *

Sam did the sensible thing. She liked to think she was a highly sensible woman and so she decided that she was just going to forget her pain and have some real fun. She had endeavored to do just that for most of the afternoon, excluding diaper changes, of course. She was sitting in the middle of her living room, on the floor, on the edge of the play-mat, reviewing object permanency with the girls. She lifted the receiving blanket, "Where did Mommy go?"

She hammed it up for a few seconds, and lowered it. "Here I am!" She put the blanket down. There were giggles and baby smiles all around. Okay, so peek-a-boo was officially the highlight of her day. She found she liked that just fine.

Louisa grabbed at the bright blanket. She was sitting in her bumbo. Her bumbo was blue, her sister's was green, and Sam tried her best to keep their things from being used for the other child. It only seemed fair, when she could help it. "Louisa's turn!"

Sam picked up the blanket, and repeated the process, scooting so that Margaret was involved in playing peek-a-boo with her sister. "Where's Louisa?" She asked, "I don't know where she is! Margaret, do you? Where's Louisa?"

Sam put the blanket down, and exclaimed, "There's Louisa! We found Louisa! Yay!" Sometimes things were funnier and more enjoyable for the seventh or eighth time. The girls seemed to love this game. They grabbed for their bare feet in their seats, loved to make things happen, loved to exert control over their growing world.

"So, what do we do next?" Sam kept up a steady monologue as they played. She took her time in asking questions and providing responses, stopping in all the right places as she reached around and found some really great paper she kept with the toys she didn't put on the floor. Normally, they had free range with whatever they wanted, but not paper. Sam set things up so that they were freed from the bumbos, and quite interested in reaching for the paper as they were on their backs.

Sam found that they were hitting their developmental milestones. It had been the best day of Sam's life, she thought, when they had finally started really reaching out to each other, babbling at each other as they played and fed and bathed. They handed each other things, shared their worlds, and got some sort of enjoyment in the other's behaviors. They were responsive to people around them in a way that made her glow, allowed them to her really see them as incredibly individual people with wills, and hearts, and souls, and wants. She really liked the age they were at, now. They were so much fun to watch grow.

Sam watched them play as she cleared off the table, made sure there was no cat hair on it, and pulled out some plates. She did not feel like cooking. Jake could figure out food. He'd worked all day, so they were likely going to end up eating something she'd frozen, or sandwiches. At this point, Sam didn't even care.

Sam heard a squeal, and looked over to see that Margaret had lost her toy. The squeal, Sam realized, was a exclamation of frustration. Sam waited to see what she would do. After a second, a rattle ball grabbed Margaret's attention, and she reached her other hand to grab it. Louisa was chewing on her book, lying on her stomach. She seemed to be liking the squeaking sound the page made. Sam looked quickly at the table and went to wash her hands. The table was clean enough and there was fun to be observed.

* * *

They ate dinner sitting on the floor. It was unorthodox, even for them. Sam sat propped up against the couch, and Jake sat cross-legged near her. He got so little time to spend with the girls when they were down and playing that Jake figured one day off of a schedule and a routine wouldn't hurt them.

After her second slice, Sam confronted the elephant in the room. "Thoughts?"

Jake didn't know what to say. She'd poured her heart out, and every bit of rational thought he'd had about the whole thing had disappeared. It didn't matter that Jen had likely only been trying to help, not when Sam was so hurt. "I'm sorry, Brat." Jake's hand was supporting Margaret's back as she sat, her wobbly little body needing the support.

Jake wanted to hold Sam, wanted to help her feel better, but he didn't know how to do this. He had never been good about navigating his role in her friendship with Jen, mostly because he didn't have any role at all.

No matter her motivations, what Jen had done wasn't cool, in any sense of the word. Sam had poured her heart out, shared her view of that time in their lives with those she loved, and someone she loved had neglected to honor that trust. This wasn't a game. In that story, Sam talked about the accident, only a little, because it was for the girls, but some of it had been that, and she never talked about the accident publicly. She talked about their family, their world, and Jen had not respected that. It made Jake's blood boil.

Not only had Jen hurt Sam, but she had tried to hurt something that belonged, at least in part, to Margaret and Louisa. Jake had never felt quite so protective on their behalf. He was used to worrying about outside forces, but he had never before thought that their family would be a source of pain and suffering in their lives.

He had been frustrated when they were sad and he couldn't figure out why, felt terrified and horrible when he had held them and seen that they were given their shots. He had endured, in their short life on this earth so far, a tumult of emotion that even he, as taciturn as he knew he could be, couldn't help but celebrate

. But this, this was base betrayal. What did Jen hope to gain? This was just petty and said that she failed to grasp the magnitude of what Sam had shared with her. She had involved her in the legacy that she was trying to create, and Jen had all but scoffed at it. So what if Sam talked ad naseum about her options? So what if she tossed and turned over her next steps? What did it matter to Jen, except to be glad that Sam wanted her input.

"I need to talk to her." Sam said, after a moment. She reached out to stack a block. She made a soft clicking sound to get the attention of the girls. They pushed over the blocks, and laughed. They could exert control over their world, and they loved it.

Margaret flopped backwards, losing her balance, as she decided that the block Louisa had was more interesting than maintaining trunk control. Jake saw that she didn't hit her head, a reflexive action, as reflexive as the "It's okay..." he gave her when she looked startled.

"It's pink, Louisa." Sam said, holding a block out to the girl in question, "Pink." She stressed, trying to teach the color.

Jake grinned. Sam was a little ambitious in the colors and letters and numbers department, but Jake also knew that it was never too early to learn. Jake figured that she would come to that decision. After a second, he said, "Sam?"

"I should call her." Sam sighed. The cat purred loudly, stretching, sticking his claws into the furniture as he flexed his back. Jake turned and shot the cat a look. He was not replacing the couch because Cougar was too lazy to go and find his kitty corner. "But I kind of want to see her face, you know?"

Jake understood. If Darrell had pulled a stunt like this, they would need to have a sit down. "You've got work tomorrow, but..." He didn't know. Maybe they should make the trip. He wasn't sure what Sam wanted. He didn't exactly want to spend his Saturday in the car, driving with two daughters who had not yet mastered the ability to read in the car, but if Sam wanted to go, they'd go.

They'd go, because this was serious. This wasn't something she could brush off and he didn't expect that anyone would. A drive was the least of things she should be asking for, and frankly, he knew that he wasn't going to be able to relax until this was resolved. Better they be the ones to open dialogue, so that it could be on Sam's terms. It would be seven seven hours, at least. They hadn't made the trip since before the twins, and he knew now that the trip was going to take much longer by virtue of the fact of their existence. His girls took forever to get ready to go anywhere.

Sam made a hmm-ing sound as that jealous cat crawled into her lap. She patted his fur and observed the girls with a lost look in her eyes. Her thinking expression was firmly in place. Jake was silent, knowing that the person who rushed Sam to a decision was a fool indeed.

Jake cleaned up the plates, made sure the pizza was covered, and came back into the living room. He heard the crunch of tires, and went to look. He knew that Sam was zoned-out. She was watching the girls, was attentive to them, but she wasn't listening for outside noises. She was trying to think. He went to the door, and looked out. When he saw the car in the yard, he shut the door like he hadn't seen anything, and sighed before turning around. He guessed he should be happy that they wouldn't have to spend Saturday in the car. Now, he just had to tell Sam that she should probably be the one to answer the door.

**Guest: So glad you smiled. That made me smile. :)**

**Posting early! I'll reply to PMs and reviews tomorrow! Thanks for reading and please review. **


	3. Chapter 3

**Warnings: Cursing. And brownies. **

Sam didn't quite know what to do as her hands tightened at her sides. She felt rigid and frozen in place. Jake turned around, though, and the look on his face was wary and resigned. Sam knew the look on his face, could tell that he was surprised and reluctant to share what he knew. "It's Jen, isn't it?"

Sam shifted, closer to the twins.

Jake rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah." Jake shifted, looking very much the gangly teenager he had once been.

Sam knew he was uneasy. She felt like she was swimming through soup. The room felt like it was going to crash down around her. Why had Jen come here?

"Well. I can't. I can't..." Sam looked at the girls, who were hanging out before her, looking about ready to sleep after their meals and their playtime. "They need baths, and I can't..." Sam heard the clunk of metal as Jen's car door shut.

She didn't want to face this, couldn't bring herself to look Jen in the face as she admitted what she had done, never mind the fact that she had, seconds ago, been set on the course of doing just that.

She looked square at Jake. She didn't dare complete her sentence. She was no quitter, but he knew that she did not want to face Jen. She did not want to face Jen, but she knew that if her daughters came to her, and asked her what to do, she would advise them to face their relationships head on. She owed them her strength, or what there was of her fortitude.

Jake shook his head, almost sadly, telling her what she already knew She could not run. He knew that she would hate herself for it in the end, "I'll go and run the water."

Before Sam could protest, grab onto his shirt, and beg him not to leave, he had easily scooped up Louisa, and then Margaret, tugged on the end of her braid gently, and left the room.

Sam wasn't going to let Jen get the drop on her. She had too much energy. Sam crossed her living room, and went outside, pulling the door shut resolutely behind her.

Jen paused mid-stride, coming to an abrupt stop just before the walkway to the Little House.

Sam just looked at her friend, this girl that she had confided in, for years. Jen had been her friend since she was nothing but a little girl, with a bad haircut and knobby knees. Jen had been her friend, all through high school, her marriage, college, her pregnancy. Jen had held her when she'd cried, celebrated with her, understood her.

Sam had been her friend, too. Sam had supported her during her relationship issues, had been a source of support even in the darkest times of Jen's family problems. Sam had helped her, loved her, supported her, done her best to understand a woman so brilliant and so seemingly kind that this betrayal flew in the face of everything Sam thought she knew.

Jen's face was awash with guilt, drawn and pale. Her bearing was edgy and recalcitrant. Sam did not allow this information to sway her. Sam wanted to cry. She would not cry.

Standing there, in her yard, Sam crossed her arms under her chest. The spring flowers in her flower beds were bright splashes of color in peripheral vision. Beyond her, the expanse of the Big House was only broken by Jen's car, parked carefully near the tree.

Jen swallowed, coming closer like Sam was a skittish, angry, horse. "I'd hoped to explain."

"I think the facts speak for themselves, don't they?" Sam replied, neither wanting nor expecting any sort of answer. There was nothing that could be explained away. Jen had clearly violated every boundary, every sense of trust between them.

"You don't have the facts!" Jen exclaimed, "You think that I've betrayed your trust."

"Pity you didn't use some of that sense to actually not do it, Jen." Sam said, knowing full well that she was ripping into Jen's pride in her intellectual abilities. She had sense, but she didn't use it, it was useless. Skating by on the absent minded academic stereotype did not hold any water here. "I don't think. I know."

"You don't!" Jen returned, stepping closer.

Sam worked her jaw, and glared. She was not getting into a petty argument with Jen. She did not have to prove that she was the wronged party here.

Jen jaw's was set, her lips were a thin line.

Sam did not break the silence. Let Jen stew. Jen had come here. Jen had come here, obviously. She must have some reason. She had said she wanted to explain. Fine, then, Sam thought, let her. Let her explain. Let her make this not hurt, Sam thought.

Sam maintained her silence.

Jen swallowed. "Look. I regret doing it without telling you I was doing it, and I regret not helping you to do it yourself, but I don't regret that it's been done."

"That's a pretty crappy, sanctimonious distinction, Jen!" Sam's tight reign on her fury snapped. Her words were like ice as she mocked her friend, "'I regret betraying your trust, I regret obliterating your privacy, stomping on your soul, but oh, no, I don't regret doing the thing that caused these things!' You don't get to blame me for my reactions when they are nothing but reasonable in the face of what you've done!"

"Reasonable?" Jen threw back, a hot blush stealing over her face, her glasses slipping down her nose as her head snapped back as though she had been slapped. "You are not reasonable, and neither are your reactions to this whole thing. Yes, I was wrong to do that, but Sam, all I did was push send!" Jen cried. "I pushed 'send' okay? I'm not the one who has spent months and months himming and hawing over this. I'm not the one who's hiding behind the false notion that the Phantom cares about what you do because you're too scared to grow up and live for yourself. You've been dancing around, and it was time to bite the bullet. I told you that! Everyone did! And still you said, 'Jen, what do I do?' for months! You weren't listening, so I showed you!"

"Who are you to decide what I do, when I do it, and how I go about it?" Sam hissed, "If you didn't care, didn't want to listen anymore, you could have communicated that, and I would have tried to let go of the fact that my best friend evidently doesn't care about my life or my work or anything!" Sam was suddenly very tired. "You showed me, alright, you showed me."

"Didn't care?" Jen shot back. She rolled her eyes. "Whatever, Sam. Whatever. I'm not going to play into your delusions."

"You're deluded if you think that what you did is in any way an expression of positive regard!" Sam was so rigid she almost could not speak, "How is forcing my hand a giant fucking Valentine's heart? You were sick of hearing me talk, so you shut up me by selling me out!"

"Why don't you go stomp inside, huh?" Jen spat, "Go stomp inside, and flop on your couch, and whine to Jake, who's..." She looked up at the open window, "...just going to pat your hand and say 'Yes, dear...' and become positively ruffled with righteous indignation because nobody's willing to piss you off and tell you that it's time to stop talking and actually do something! At least I'm willing to tell you you're being a sanctimonious bitch!"

"I'm the bitch, here?" Sam was boiling inside, "Maybe you should look in a mirror. I'm not the one who pulled a dick move, Jen. I've got nothing to be sorry for, nothing, except maybe the fact that I've spent a decade of my life placing trust in the wrong person. I'd have been better off befriending Rachel! At least she's a bitch to my face!"

Sam did not wait to finish seeing Jen's face fill with blood. Sam turned around on her heel, made her way up the walk, and slammed the thick door so hard it rattled the walls that had once been a fortification.

* * *

Quinn slunk into the garage, like some kind of thief. Jake looked at him and Louisa, over the hood of the Scout. "I don't know how you're sleeping in the same bed. She's liable to kill somebody."

Jake tried not to yawn at the mere suggestion of sleep. The past three days had been hell. Sam wasn't sleeping. She used night feedings as an excuse to stay up, stay up and watch the sun rise. Jake had tried to talk to her, had really tried. He was willing to talk about it, if she wanted.

Sam said that he did not understand, and that it wasn't a big deal. Jake typically just hugged her, and let her lie. He hated to think that maybe Jen was right. Maybe that action was a pat on the hand, but he was not going to encourage her to go to Jen, hat in hand. He understood where Sam was, and he supported her. That wasn't humoring her. That was loving her, loving her where was, which was something Jen evidently did not understand.

Quinn thought this was a great joke. Why he seemed so utterly comfortable with Sam's misery Jake did not know. Quinn had no way of knowing how this was gong to pan out.

"If you would stop pushing her, Quinn," Jake said, picking up the rag to wipe his hands quickly. "To call Jen, they maybe she would speak to you."

Jake rounded the Scout and took Louisa, mostly because she was looking at him imperiously. Her tiny capris and tunic top did nothing to soften the look of resolve on her face. Not even the puffed, cap sleeves, and the tiny button details took away from her look of utter distaste. "Hey, butterbean." Jake greeted Louisa.

In return, she pressed her head to his chest. Jake took it as a gesture of affection and not a flailing headbutt. Jake cuddled her softly, boosting her rounded diaper-bottom gently, "Tell Quinn he's sticking his nose in, would you? He never listens to me."

Louisa blinked critically. "Eeee..." she said. Jake took that to mean that she knew darn well nobody listened to him, and thought it was particularly charming that her old man kept on trying.

"Jen's right, you know." Quinn said, breaking into the conversation that Jake was clearly trying to continue with Louisa. Quinn had obviously carted her out here, bending to her tiny, but iron will, and so Jake figured he should just go away now.

But his family said that he had to allow them to play with the girls. Mom, sure. Dad, yeah. Quinn, maybe not.

Jake inhaled sharply, and not because Louisa was trying to grab at his fingers and stuff them in her teething mouth. He could not allow her to gnaw on his car-tainted hands, even if he had only been getting started when they'd come in.

"I'm not saying she was right in the way she went about sending Sam's work out without her permission, but I think she's got a point." Quinn asserted, never mind the fact that he was playing with a squeaking giraffe, "A point that's Sam's missing because she's mired in her spiral of fury."

"Her point?" Jake crossed the space, and took Sophie the giraffe and returned it to her rightful owner, who promptly tried to stuff the giraffe's entire neck into her mouth, sideways. Louisa looked vindicated.

Jake felt a rather smug flash of pride for having put that look on her face.

"Sam needed a kick up the ass." Quinn said, dropping onto a chair, "It is not easy to do it, but it had to be done. I speak from experience. Jen is just not as skilled as I am."

Jake quirked an eyebrow. Louisa gnawed away, clearly unimpressed with the exchange.

Quinn was on a roll, "Do you remember, when you were, what, sixteen, seventeen? And I kept poking at you and poking at you about Sam?"

Jake nodded. Quinn had done absolutely nothing but play into his worries about Sam, in a creepily knowing way. He had almost pushed Jake into declaring himself. In fact, his drama had been one of the reasons he and Sam had kind of ditched Quinn during those months. Quinn had teased and pushed Jake, only to pull back just as Jake was starting to feel that maybe the right time was coming along.

And then Sam had gotten into a funk over something, ruined ice cream, and everything had changed, in an odd way that he didn't quite understand. That period of time stood out in

Jake's mind as so long ago. Had they even been that young, ever been anybody but who they were? "You were never actually helpful."

Quinn shifted in the chair, and found that he had been sitting on a notebook. He pulled it out from under himself, and continued, as he thumbed through it. "I know that you've got to do things for yourselves. You're too alike to actually see this logically, but you can't honestly want to spend the rest of your life like this?"

Jake huffed. The idea that he was fine with seeing Sam in pain was completely off-base. "You know that..."

Louisa seemed to enjoy the puff of air that came her way, so Jake did it again, gently, just to see her look around, and wonder where that was coming from.

Her baby arm reached toward his lips, and promptly stopped talking. Jake understood that she understood the relationship between the action and the cause. Her grip on his face was tight, and clearly he needed to trim her nails. She ended up being a little bit above his mouth, her palm landing on his nose.

Jake replied, "That's Daddy's nose, Louisa. Where's Louisa's nose?"

Louisa clearly thought he was a funny, funny, old man. She looked at him, "Mezeeeee!"

Jake tapped the tip of her nose gently, "There's your nose."

Carefully, using the same finger, Jake helped her to track it as he tapped his own nose. "My nose." He touched her nose with the tip of his finger, "Louisa's nose."

Louisa seemed interested by this progression of events. She had this book of body parts, and the nose in that book was made of a scratchy paper.

Jake smiled, "And look, see, Louisa, at Quinn's nose."

Louisa twisted her little body around, and right on cue, Quinn made a snorting noise. Jake hadn't been expecting it. Louisa looked curious.

Quinn did it again, and Louisa buried her head against her father, as if to say, "I do not know this loon. Keep him away."

Quinn continued, unfounded, "Jake. Jen loves Sam, loves her enough to not let something good pass her by because she's too stuck to do something about it. She went about it the wrong way. But I remember wondering if you guys were ever going to get together, and deciding that I was going to do whatever I needed to do to get you to see what was in front of your noses." Jake was honestly surprised that Quinn was actually telling him any of this. As Jake recalled, Quinn had delighted in teasing them.

Jake remembered that one HARP group, with that kid Richie, who had buddied up with Quinn to tease them. Before that, there had been that night with the cake and ice cream. Hadn't that been the night that they'd come out with the details of their marriage? Jake though back for a second. God, that had been so long ago.

Quinn wasn't paying attention to the fact that Jake had gotten a little lost in his mind, "Jen loves Sam enough to not let her stagnate, enough to do anything so that Sam will never see her life going by, wondering what might have been."

Jake made up his mind quickly. Quinn had never, never, hurt them like Jen had hurt Sam. Love was never, never, never, a justification to hurt someone. Next, Jake thought, Quinn would be using this rationale to justify bullying and abuse. This was absolute bull. "That's not the same thing."

"It is." Quinn returned, softly, mindful of Louisa's wide eyes and perked ears tracking a conversation. She might not understand words, but she understood tone. She understood the soft kiss that Jake pressed to the top of her downy hair, understood the way he bent down to pick up her Sophie, before Quinn continued speaking, "Do you think that I prodded you because I wanted to annoy you?"

Jake popped up from the floor, gripping Louisa tightly. Louisa grinned at the sensation. "Yes."

"Okay, yes." Quinn admitted, "But also because I know you two. I know that there was always going to be something there, and that you two would spend your lives on these ranches, dancing around it, never finding anyone else. I love you guys too much to have ever let that happen. So Jen is Sam's me, basically, fuck if I know."

Quinn finished, and looked at Jake with a challenge in his eyes.

Jake couldn't believe he was saying what he was saying again, but it had to be said. Again. He wasn't some stickler for good language, but he did think that Quinn needed to be reminded, again. "She's going to talk, you know."

"Eh, she knows adults use some words, and kids use others. I can say that Mommy and Daddy are being ostriches, but LouLou can't."

Jake didn't like the idea of Louisa being told that she couldn't say what she thought. If she thought he and Sam were being ostriches, she could say what she thought about the world around her without recrimination. "She can say what she wants."

"Eeeeeee..." Louisa said, flopping her arms about her. Jake caught her palm and pressed a kiss to it. He'd read somewhere that babies needed 80 kisses a day, or something akin to that number, so he did try to be demonstrative. Babies relied on touch, gestures, sounds. It wasn't like playing with Margaret or Louisa was some great challenge.

Quinn quirked a smile.

"But nothing approved by George Carlin, Quinn!" Jake returned, squeaking Sophie, so that Louisa would stop clambering to get down and rock back and forth. She was learning to crawl, and she wanted to crawl everywhere. Jake drew the line at dirty concrete.

Quinn was being a fool. She could say whatever crossed her mind, provided she tried her best to say it in a way that did not make it seem like her parents had never raised her. "It's not going to be funny when she's five and goes to Cloverbuds and curses out the other kids."

"It actually would, but hey." Quinn held up his palms, "Not my fault. I should get some slack here. If not for me, you would be a lonely, old, beat-cop, wandering around this ranch, getting more set in your bachelor ways."

"I would have figured it out." Jake finally decided that Louisa could take no more of standing here, "It's not like you really helped."

Quinn shut the hood of the Scout. Jake was going to have to change the oil later. "I can see it now, you, twenty-three, with no knowledge of Puff-Puffs, full nights of sleep, no bills, a sick truck, I'm talking sick, and utterly miserable."

Jake raised an eyebrow, fixed a tendril of Louisa's hair because she was getting Muppety, and left Quinn alone. Jake was not going to take part in his delusions of grandeur.

* * *

Sam rounded the Volvo, carrying the milk pail. She had to process this milk tonight. The day was beautiful, and Sam dropped the pail to admire the fading light, to listen to nature. Jake had the girls, and she frankly, did not know what to do with herself.

Sam had decided that she wasn't going to let this fight with Jen ruin things right now. Jen had hurt her. Jen had made her bleed, but Sam was tired of the pain eating her alive. She felt bad about calling Jen a bitch, even if she did stand by everything else she said.

The screen door to the Big House banged, and Sam looked up to see Jake heading her way. He strode towards her purposefully, her stride lighter than she had seen it in days. "Mom said she'll watch the girls and Cody if you want to go for a ride."

Sam breathed in the Spring air, and considered her options. Jake extended a brownie towards her, and Sam stuffed most of it in her mouth in one go. The benefits to all of these food cravings was the complete ability to indulge them and not weigh any more than she did. Most of the weight she had gained across her pregnancy had shifted, shifted to her chest and her bottom, to the deep deposits of fat that she could never shake, though she knew she had lost weight since the twins had been born.

Cody was over, mostly because Brynna was at a meeting, Dad was dealing with something he wouldn't tell her about, and Cody wanted to play. As if to sway her, Jake added, "Quinn's constructing a fort."

"Don't you want to play fort?" Sam honestly enjoyed playing fort, almost as much as she enjoyed talking around the brownie in her mouth. It had been fun as kids, because there were so many of them to undertake the work and turn the den into one massive fort.

Jake took the handle of the milk pail, and started walking towards the fridge in the barn. "You're telling me you don't want to take Tempest out?"

Sam grinned. "Race you to the lake?" It was a nice night. There was a light breeze that made her want to literally let her hair out of it's braid and go flying across the desert.

Jake grinned, and Sam knew he'd handle the milk for now.

Sam hurried off to grab Tempe, and beat him to start. She wouldn't take off without him, but he had a way of distracting her when he tacked up. Sam pressed her lips into a thin line. He did it on purpose.

On the way out of the pasture with Tempest, her phone buzzed. Sam pulled it out of her back pocket as she walked, Tempest utterly uninterested in whatever Sam had going on.

Fleetingly, Sam hoped that it was Jen emailing her, texting her, calling her. A huge part of her missed Jen so much. It was just that she did not know what to say. Some of her fury had faded. She still felt bruised and hurt, but there was a huge hole in her life.

She just wanted to know why Jen had done this, the real reason, not the one she'd cooked up. Sam couldn't help but wonder if Jen was ashamed of her. Sam had always been ambitious, matching Jen as best she could, in her own way. But lately, beyond some grant writing for Trudy, she hadn't been doing much. Jen was working towards Vet School, was out there in the world kicking behind, and Sam thought that perhaps Jen could not deal with having a best friend who used an B.F.A. to fold laundry and a B.A in Journalism to make baby books.

Sam knew she did more. It just rankled. Sam couldn't come up with any other reason that made sense.

Sam opened her phone and tapped the app. The little red dot disappeared. It wasn't Jen. It was an email from Tess.

_Sam, _

_What part of call me did you not get? I get it, you're busy with your horses and those beautiful girls of yours. Think about your book plans, honestly, because I'm going to be in Elko on assignment next week. I have a lot of ideas! Let's do lunch! _

_Can we meet? _

_Best, _

_Tess _

Sam breathed. None of this was about Jen, or what Jen thought. It was about what she wanted, what she thought, what she felt. Jen could say as she wished, but she didn't live Sam's life, and she wasn't going to let Jen's judgements cloud her goals. They were her choices. Hers alone.

Standing in the pasture, Sam typed out a simple reply.

_Tess, _

_Do you like Basque? _

_Sam _

Following that, she pulled up her texts. Thumbing the keypad, Sam paused when a green message popped up, frozen for a second before she allowed herself to read it.

_You're not a sanctimonious bitch. I overstepped. What can I do? I just want you to know that I was coming from a place of love. _

Sam replied, after a second, her heart thudding. She had to be totally honest. Never once had she doubted that Jen loved her. That had never entered her mind. As long as they both trusted that, they would be okay.

_I'm mad. I'm hurt. But I've never doubted that you love me, oddly enough. We'll be okay. _

Jen's reply was nearly instant.

_You sure? _

Sam replied:

_No. But I would rather be unsure with you than unsure without you. I'd never pick Rachel over you. _

Sam put away her phone, and loped along, to catch up with Jake.

**So sorry about the wait. Feb-March was busy for me. There should be no further delays, and please do expect an update soon. **


	4. Chapter 4

Max appeared without so much as a call of greeting. In this case, it would have been warning for Sam to beat a hasty retreat. "Have you given any more thought to my suggestion?"

Sam had been hoping to avoid this conversation. The cat snaked around her legs, and Sam looked down, not at all surprised to find that he had snuck out behind Max when she'd popped into the house to find Sam and have this out. "I really..." Sam caught the look on Max's face, and knew better than to attempt to lie to Max, who had this uncanny ability to see a lie coming at 50 paces. "No."

Still, even in saying that she hadn't considered it, Sam lied. Going to a book club here seemed like such an old lady thing to do. It seemed like she was admitting that she had nothing better to do with her time. Sam knew that discussing books was valuable, but she really didn't have the time to go and do it. Partly, she was certain that everyone would sit around and complain about their spouses or talk about grandchildren and gout. It was a waste of time, honestly. Her book club in college had been an amazing group of women, and somehow, moving on to an established group seemed hollow in comparison. She missed her friends. She didn't need new ones.

"Honey." Max said, drawing her attention away from the stall she was trying to muck. "You can't let your social skills and needs atrophy. It isn't good for you, and it isn't good for the girls. When's the last time you left the ranch that wasn't work, church, or ranch related?"

Sam spoke up. She had an answer for that. "I seriously just went to the mall."

Max was not impressed. "Jake doesn't count anymore." She reached out to pet the cat who was balancing on the stall door that separated them.

Sam sighed. He was still her friend. Frankly, he was one of the few people she cared to spend time with. They'd gone to the mall, simply because the girls had needed tights and they'd needed a few hours out. A badly boiled and overly salted pretzel at the mall had been the highlight to a really nice, if tiring, day.

Sam shot a glance at Max, and knew that Quinn wouldn't fair any better in Max's estimation. She and Quinn were as tight as ever, but Max seemed to thinking that she was lacking contacts outside of the family. Even her work with Trudy no longer counted to Max and Gram.

Sam had caught them worrying over her social life. She had heard them talking behind her back about it. "Nobody gives Quinn any trouble." Sam said, mulishly avoiding Max's gaze, as she shoveled a bit more into the wheelbarrow.

"Sammy." Max rebuked her, "Quinn does in fact have a social life. His foolishness wouldn't hurt two little girls who need their mother to be healthy and happy. Moreover, he hasn't gone from running six clubs, volunteering every day of the week, and going to school to working at home and being mostly alone with two infants."

"So if I didn't have to take care of the girls and had loafed about in college, you wouldn't be so concerned?" Sam asked, leaning the shovel against the wall. She picked up the handles, and Max moved out of her way.

Sam pushed the wheelbarrow towards the pile as Max followed along. Sam sighed, hoping that walking away would have been enough of a message. "You're not nourishing yourself, Sam, socially."

"I'm fine." Sam disagreed. She felt fine. She did miss her friends, Deena, who was interning at a historical society doing restoration somewhere in Arizona, and Molly, who was doing her grad school application thing. It sucked that they were finishing up their educations, and that she wasn't there. She dumped out the wheelbarrow with some force, taking her time to let the silence between them settle.

Sam had made her choices though, and she didn't understand why her family was so set on pathologizing how she should be feeling, as though they had any real insight into the matter. Sometimes, yeah, she felt raw and lonely, but who didn't miss college? Rushing out to make a new group of friends wouldn't change anything.

Max's shoulders slumped slightly as Sam looked over at her. "It's okay to miss your friends." Sam knew Max was trying. All Sam's life, she hadn't had much in the way of friendships. In high school, she had had Ally and Jen. She had always felt socially fulfilled by them, by her brothers, with Jake. That was, until college, and this whole world had opened up. There had been so many wonderful people in her life, people who finally understood her.

But now Ally was at college. Jen was there, too. Everybody but Quinn was scattered to the four winds. Jake was around, clearly, and they were doing okay. They had their moments. And the people that had understood her were gone. No longer did they have that common ties of college life, of classes and common places and spaces, to tie them together. "I do miss them." Sam agreed, "And that's okay. But it's not okay to just replace them."

Max picked up the cat that was getting ready to pounce for parts unknown. Cougar protested, until he realized who had picked him up, and that this lady would brook no disobedience. "Love grows, Sammy girl. New friends won't erase the ones you carry in your heart."

Sam didn't know what to say. She stood there until Max had gone up to her porch and entered the house, wherein Quinn was minding Louisa and Margaret while they slept. "Hey! You stole my cat!"

Oddly enough, it was the only reply that made any sense.

* * *

A few days later, Sam had considered the matter more fully and decided that she did not need to expand her social circle. She saw, however, that Max had a point. She had to balance out her work and her responsibilities as a mother with other stuff that was meaningful solely for the value that she found in it. After about thirty seconds, Sam realized something. "I like to write."

Thereby, she resovled that she did, in fact, need to put more into it. Now that her story was mostly finished, it felt odd not to get up at odd hours and hack out 2000 words, or puzzle over a word only to have the perfect one come thorugh at the strangest moment. Writnig was a part of herself that she loved, and needed to nourish to be at her best, to do her most good.

Jake replied, "The grass is green." He squeaked a soft cube that was holding Louisa's attention as if to punctuate his statement.

"Wrong." Quinn asserted, "It's brown." He was flopped over their couch, with his hat over his eyes. Every so often, he reached down and flicked Jake in the shoulder, often when he was holding one of the girls. Louisa especially laughed, and Jake was indignant that she was laughing over his pain. Sam did not spoil Quinn's fun and let Jake in on the funny faces Quinn made behind his brother's back to more fully elicit the reaction from the children.

Sam sent them both a quelling look as she looked across the space at Jake, observing her daughters with some wonder. It had been a long day, and she was exhausted. "I am having a moment of self-awareness, and you're arguing about grass."

Quinn didn't move from his repose on the couch, but Sam heard the grin in his voice. "Hey, some people find grass very enlightening."

Sam couldn't help it. She chortled. Then, before she could laugh, because it was horrendously easy to make her laugh, she breathed out. "My point is that I do have a hobby that's meaningful."

"It'd be a job if you wanted it to be." Jake pointed out, not at all amused by Quinn. It was not exactly true, of course. He was just better at hiding his emotions. Jake was going to say something more, but his tone shifted. "Please don't eat that, Margaret." Margaret had picked up some cat food that had been tracked into the living room area, and was preparing to stuff it into her mouth with her wide baby fingers.

Sam snatched it away, moving quickly, half-amused that Margaret was so aware of her surroundings, and half-annoyed that her carpets were so unclean after only a day of not vacuuming. Jake always did a poor job, and Cougar was a lazy bag of bones. She took the cat food and replaced it with the block next to her on the floor. "What color is this, Margaret?" Sam asked, "Is it green and soft?" Margaret was not interested in the block, and Sam scooped her up, just to hold her. Margaret was scooting towards the door. Sam figured she could have a few more feet before they spoiled her fun. They were both so wiggly, and Sam was bound and determined to get as many baby hugs in as she possibly could. She kissed Margaret's milk-scented cheek, and wondered at the utter perfection in front of her.

Before Jake could continue on speaking, she caught his eye. The acknowledgement of the moment was palpable between them. His gaze was knowing. Sam knew that he knew everything she would never say. Sam felt it in the flutter of her heart, the marrow of her bones. This moment, this tiny moment, made the entire world make sense. Everything they had ever done, every mistake and every misstep, had led them to this moment, and the connection in knowing that they had done pretty awesome, all told, so far, was unspoken, but equally known between them.

* * *

Jake wasn't quite sure what to make of the ranch yard. He was batted in the face by a tablecloth that had graced his breakfast table this morning. Jake ducked to scoot around it. He couldn't get through to his parking spot because there was laundry racks and clotheslines everywhere. This was not a typical laundry day, not only because it was Thursday, and laundry was done on a Saturday, mostly, but because the living room was outside.

The chairs were sitting in the front yard, with the end tables, like the living room had been set up in the yard. Cougar was sunning himself on the chair seat. Jake ran a hand over his spine, and watched as the cat flexed, over the bare fabric covered springs. The dogs bounded up, clearly out of Sam's way as they'd lazed on the walk.

Just then, he heard something thunk down the stairs. He heard Sam say, "See, now, this is why you have baby wraps." She seemed remarkably calm, Jake thought, for just having dropped one of the children down the stairs. She cried when they had gas, and...

Jake stopped thinking to listen as he moved towards the door. There was no frustration in her tone, but Jake figured there should have been when he stepped inside to see a laundry bag spilled all over the stairs. Jake scooped up a blue top before it hit him in the face.

Sam saw him at the foot of the stairs, one of her shirts in hand, and said, "I was trying to kick it down the stairs." She had her arms full with the girls, and her chuck clad feet had been the only tools available to her.

"Why don't you let them play?" Jake suggested. Clearly, staying in their wraps was not on the agenda, no matter how much they typically enjoyed them. Then she would have her hands, and would not be kicking her clothes down the stairs. Their living room was almost entirely free of furniture, though of course Sam had not moved the heavier items, the buffet she had along the wall, the love seat.

"Oh, I just didn't think of that." Sam adopted an accent, like she was Daisy Mae, and Jake saw her posture shift, in mocking indignation. "I completely never thought that two babies would enjoy playing on their mats, or with their toys, or with blocks, or books. Golly gee, my whole day would have been so much simpler if you had been here to tell me to let them play."

Jake did not take offense. He took in their clinging grasps and red faces. "They've cried all day?"

"Cried and whined, and pleaded, and followed after me, and I cannot sit and cuddle. When I do, they don't want to sleep. They won't eat, play, sleep, or stay in their wraps." Sam came down the stairs.

Jake winked at the girls. They didn't get it, but it made him smile to see them exchange a speaking glance and a series of babbling consonants. They were buddies, and secretly, Jake hoped they'd have one of those twin lanuages, just so he could record it, and hold that memory in his heart when he was aged and they insisted they had never been two babies that fit perfectly near his heart.

Carefully, Jake took her elbow to help her over the clothing that had mounded up on the bottom few stairs. "I didn't know you were, uhm, planning..." He looked at her, not quite sure what to say. It looked like a bomb went of in here, but Jake had learned over the years to keep his mouth shut.

"Get this." Sam said, pushing up to nestle against him. Jake slipped an arm around her, and breathed in her scent, and that of pureed carrots. Jake often didn't realize how much he missed them all until he came back. Then the missing them hit him so hard he wondered how he wondered how he would be expected to leave again.

Margaret's fingers became talons and dug into his forearm, "Eeeeeep!" She cried, flailing against her mother, knocking into his chest with enough force to make what she wanted entirely clear.

Jake took up her weight easily as she fisted her hand into his collar and yanked. Suffocating me is not..." Jake pried the fabric out of her fingers, "...something we do to say hello. I like kisses though."

Jake high fived Louisa, who was red faced and indignant. Jake asked her, as Sam bent down to gather some of the laundry. "So what do you do today, Louisa?"

Louisa was not interested in sharing. Jake surmised her day had been very trying, very busy, what with naps and playing and crying after their mother because said mother wasn't a mind reader. She peered over Sam's shoulder, clearly asking why he was bothering to ask her, when it would be clear if he looked around.

Jake let his gaze slide down towards the floor.

Sam snorted. "They didn't waste time staring at my legs." The bag was upright, then, and Jake did not admit that he had not been looking at her legs, exactly.

Jake grinned, and found that his heart felt lighter than it had all day. Work had been tough. There was this case that just seemed...not right. On the surface, it should have been simple, but Jake couldn't help but feel uneasy about the whole thing. He didn't have anything to go on, except his gut, and Jake, while he valued his intuition, was almost out of hot water around the office. He wasn't sure risking that was worth it, not yet.

Sam came to her point when the laundry was piled together somewhat haphazardly, "Teresa wants to see a real working ranch, and have lunch here after. She insists it will be easier on me. I couldn't find a way to tell her that the dust bunnies and cat hair monsters were going to eat her alive."

Jake knew that sitting down after working all day wasn't going to be an option, not with how much this meant to Sam, and the uneasy way the girls were playing off each other, grabbing at each other so that Jake had to shift just to keep one from taking a pound of flesh out of her sister.

"Uhm." Jake looked around, figuring that saying that it looked more messy now than it had this morning wouldn't serve the greater good. He was slowly learning, he thought, not to talk about things he didn't understand.

"Right." Sam said, moving past him, "I made pasta." She snorted and Jake shared a telling glance with the twins, who knew very well that their mother's idea of pasta was to pop a jar Grace had canned and call it a day. "Okay, so I opened a few jars. But it's food."

It was food alright, Jake thought later, as he looked at his white shirt. The clothes the girls had been wearing didn't have much on them. So much for keeping clean, and it wasn't like he could blame Margaret or Louisa for the splatter on her shirt.

Sam just laughed, and Jake put away the dirty diapers in the trash. "That is never coming out." She sing-songed, sounding positively gleeful. "A pair of seven month old babies have better table skills than you."

Jake rolled his eyes, "At least my hair doesn't look like stuck pasta when it's wet." The tiny baby clothes went into the dirty laundry, and Jake avoided the pajamas that Margaret had grown out of, seemingly overnight. They were growing up so quickly.

Sam had the last laugh, "It's because you're bald, Jakey." Sam pulled the tiny nightshirt over Louisa's head, "Poor old, bald, Daddy." Margaret cocked her head, and tilted her body towards her sister, as though she agreed with her mother's assessment of the situation.

"Eeee..." Louisa cried, making her opinion known.

"That's right." Jake agreed, "I do get to pick the book, just for that." Jake turned around, scooping up both Margaret and Louisa, and tucked _Llama Llama Mad at Mama _under his arm before Sam could protest.

Sam had a few quiet moments, now that the twins were sleeping. She folded herself down onto the ottoman, and frowned at the clothes before her. Despite her expression, she looked over at Jake, "Mom is driving out to see Julia and Seth tomorrow."

Jake didn't look up from his paperwork. After reading about Llama Llama and giving kisses and letting tiny bodies cuddle up against them, Jake had to get this done for tomorrow, and Sam had to get this wash done if Max was to take it with her. Sam wouldn't make Julia wash anything before she could wear it. He folded over the stapled paper, and replied, "Uh-huh."

Sam huffed out a breath. "Hey!"

Jake looked up sharply. Sam knew then that he hadn't been listening to her for the last 15 minutes. Sam resolved that she was not going to repeat anything she had said in that interval. Well, she would, but better to let him think she wouldn't repeat herself. It was more fun that way "What?"

"I asked you if you wanted her to bring anything back, or if there was anything you want to send." Sam held up the shirt, and folded the sleeves in over the loose fabric of the torso, and put it in the bin she was sending down to Julia.

"No." Jake watched her efficiently fold the last of her maternity clothing, items she had been still wearing, or loosely holding onto, because they had been her favorites. "What are you doing?"

"Sending the last of my maternity clothes her way." Sam replied, folding the cream colored top with a gentleness that spoke of lots of wear. "I was cleaning, and she needs them." She set down the top in the tote and reached for the sweater, trying not to look at it.

"Sam." Jake put down his pen, as though he was thinking over something, "Didn't you wear that two weeks ago?"

Trust him to notice a ratty, old, sweater. Sam knew he would read something into her giving away the brown sweater. She had lived in that thing for at least a month. It had been cuddly and warm, the only thing not to call attention to the lumps and bumps of her body in a way that made her feel funny. "It's time."

Jake looked somewhat dubious. "To throw out your sweater?"

"It's a maternity sweater." She repeated herself. Clearly, he had not been listening or using those vaulted skills of his to observe the world around him. Sam wondered what West would think of his prized pupil now. Pregnant people wore maternity clothes. Women who were never going to be pregnant again did not need to ferret away brown sweaters or maternity jeans, not matter how nicely they had fit in the bottom and thighs.

"It hasn't stopped you before." Jake said, "You still wear..."

Sam knew that she had worn a few maternity items out of comfort and habit rather than need, but she had figured that now was as good a time as any to give the out of season clothes away to Julia, now that she was finishing cleaning up for Teresa's visit. She had not thought of her warmer clothes, until Julia's baby shower. She had simply not had the time to pack things up, but Sam supposed that that was what people did for their sisters. Sam didn't much know, until Max had gently asked if there was anything else she wanted to send down, and Sam had finally put the last bits of the puzzle together.

Sam put the information that had allowed her to see why Julia would need her out-of-season clothing. Jake would pick up what she was putting down easily enough. She really didn't want to talk about she was feeling. She had more than enough, more than she'd ever prayed for, or known to pray for, and still there were old feelings that danced in the edges of her mind. "She mentioned that the reason they asked for unisex things at her shower is because they're planning a large family."

Sam knew that Jake was incredulous. Babies were a metric ton of work, and their needs were all-encompassing. Some days, there was nothing left over. It was rather telling, that a few months in and Jake sounded knowing and a bit jaded, "Shouldn't they try it out with the one they've got first?"

"How would I know?" Sam shoved the sweater in the bin, and reached for the jeans. She had hated these jeans, at first. Then, slowly, she had grown, literally, to like them. Sam flicked a bit of dryer lint out of the blue band at the stomach, "It's not like I sit on their family planning discussion."

"Seth sat in on some of ours." Jake recalled.

He hadn't really. He had tip-toed around anything remotely related to pregnancy. He'd known, of course, about the endo, and about what it might mean, more than any of the others. That didn't stop him from promoting safe sex, though what he thought they needed protecting from, she had never been quite sure.

"He threw condoms at you." He had, mostly because it annoyed Jake. One time, Seth and someone else whose name rhymed with Finn had stuffed the glovebox in the Scout full of condoms. Dad had gone to get something out of there before Jake had known about any misdeeds, and her poor father had not quite known where to look when they'd come out, spilling like an avalanche over his feet as Jake coughed. Poor Jake had been mortified. Sam wished she'd had that on tape. "Not at all the same thing."

"Hm." Jake dropped the subject, or refocused it back to the original topic at hand. "I think you should keep the sweater." Jake clicked his pen, as though he'd worked out whatever he had been thinking about, and that his mind was settled, and that his resolve was solid.

Sam didn't feel like admitting that she was irrationally attached to a sweater, not because there would never be another chance to wear it, she didn't want to be pregnant right now, obviously, but because it highlighted how abnormal she still felt sometimes. Things never just went away. "I think you're too interested in the fate of a $50 polyester blend sweater."

"Sam." Jake said, "Just because we're done, doesn't mean you can't keep the sweater." Jake was soft, in that moment, his resolve and his analysis taking a back seat to the slump he saw in the set of her shoulders, the raw something she could neither name nor hide.

"I thought all of my issues would go away once the twins were born." Sam had known that the simple fact of delivering healthy daughters had done much to lighten the fears she had carried with her for years, fears that had shifted while she carried the girls.

But those fears had been born of a reality that caused her pain, no matter how it had changed. Those old demons still danced in her mind. Still, pegging her entire psychological health on the conclusion of her pregnancy had been, at best, naive and suspect. It said that there was still work to be done, even now.

Jake put his papers aside, and sat down on the couch next to her. Sam felt very raw. How foolish was this, to admit to feeling this way, still, after all this time, after all of these changes? Sometimes, she felt more unfamiliar and uncomfortable with her body now that it had changed so radically from childbearing, and sometimes she still felt that part of herself that wasn't quite like other people, no matter how she had tried to work through it.

Jake knew too much. His words were soft, gentle. Sam felt broken and humbled by how much he accepted her where she was, always, always wanting her to be her best, but never better or different than she was. "It's okay, Sam."

"I'm real tired of this nice, supportive, version of you." Sam groused, sitting on the couch next to him, letting her gaze fall into his, "If 17-year old you could see you now. What he'd say, I can't imagine."

Jake shifted, "Probably try to feel you up."

Sam leaned against him, felt the calluses of his palms settle over her waist. Her breath danced over his neck as she beelined for that randomly sensative spot under his ear. She smiled. Nobody changed that much, obviously, because presently Jake had the same idea he might have had a few years ago, "Touch them and I'll sprain your wrist."

"Not chop them off?" Jake grinned, looking down at his poor, spared, hands "You're getting soft in your old age."

"Not at all." Sam denied, pulling back to make her point known. She was hardly getting soft in her dotage. She was shrewd, with fantastic delegation skills and a fully developed frontal lobe, which was more than she could say for him. "You need your hands to go pour me a drink."

Jake rolled his eyes and dutifully went off to fetch her a drink. As he got over to the kitchen, Sam called out, softly, "I also want some cookies. Just two."

Jake didn't listen, not really, though he pulled the tin from the cupboard before she finished speaking. He brought her the tub back with him.

Sam peeled the wax paper and bread back to pull out a cookie. She spoke, "I really should learn portion control." Sam teased, counting out her portion as Jake took a cookie for himself, "Two for me, two for Louisa, two for Margaret, and an extra half just because." Jake grabbed a cookie like she was going to take it, the thief that he was. "Stop eating my food, man."

"You're nasty when you're hungry." Jake returned, "And wrong. There's cake left. Go eat that."

"I can't eat cake." Sam laughed, "I'm calorie counting." Sam was totally messing with him. She was loosely watching, but the fact was that she did not want to leave a dirty plate in the sink overnight, and she was too tired to wash, and Jake had worked all day, and that wasn't fair either.

"No you're not." Jake said, around cookie.

"I am too!" Sam retorted, "One hundred calories a cookie, times six, plus one-half, well." Sam drew up her brows as she pulled her math skills together, knowing that Jake had come to the figure after a nanosecond of thinking, "Six-hundred and fifty." She thought for a second, "I'm going to die from obesity related causes when my metabolism slows down."

"Probably." Jake agreed, looking not at all worried, though maybe that was from the bliss of the chocolate cookie he was scarfing down.

Sam pulled the box away before he could grab another, "Well, you don't have to sound happy about it, you enabler."

"Not my fault." Jake denied, taking one from her pile.

"You gave me the cookies!" Sam spluttered, and settled back against him, papers flying as her foot accidentally knocked over the TV table Jake had been using. The thunk resounded in the house. She mock glared at Jake as her eyes widened when a thin whimper floated down the stairs.

**Hey guys! So, in the last few weeks, my mom and my sister have both been in the hospital. My sister was in the hospital for almost a week, and my mom had some exploratory surgery and her gallbladder removed. Her recovery is going slowly, and filling her shoes around here is the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. I promise another update soon. I just want you know that I haven't flaked, and ask that if you believe in prayer or good thoughts, that they'd surely appreciate some. **

**If you celebrate Passover or Easter, I hope they are joyous. I'll reply to PMs tomorrow. I've got to go assist Peter Rabbit now. **

**P.S. I've been posting a slightly more M rated version of _Run_ over on AO3. **


	5. Chapter 5

Sam glanced at her table. It had been polished within an inch of its life. This table had been with her so long, the dips, dings, and well-worn wood telling a story that she would never be able to put on a page. Sam fixed the centerpiece, and rocked back on her heels.

She had about two minutes until Teresa was set to arrive at the Little House. For once in their lives, the girls had gone down to nap a while ago with a minimum of fuss, almost as though they wanted to escape their mother's edgy energy. All day, she had been on edge, her heart racing at odd moments, her breath stolen at random intervals. She really didn't know why she was nervous, only that she was, and refused to analyze it, because she worried it might make her more nervous.

There was nothing left to do, Sam realized, nothing left to set out or prepare for, as she pulled down the hem of her top. She fiddled with the small strings that kept the blouse-y neckline together as she walked toward the door, glancing around the room as though it had somehow changed between blinks. The crunch of tires on the rocks and gravel told her that the time for fussing was past. She wished she understood more fully the purpose of Teresa's visit, but Sam guessed she was about to find out as a silver sedan came to a stop behind the Volvo. Sam smiled, her heart pounding a rapid beat beneath her chest.

* * *

Jake tore into his sandwich. It was a peanut butter and jelly, made with the same knife. He grinned at the thought of Sam rolling her eyes when she saw that her jelly jar had been desecrated. He hoped that the mild annoyance would help her relax.

Midchew, he flicked through a database. Sometimes, he wondered just what Ballard thought of his work. It wasn't easy, sometimes, seeing places he had known and loved for decades, in new ways.

The ringing of the phones were mere background noise by now, and Jake found that the broken drawer in his desk was no longer an annoyance. Lymon, too, was somehow less abrasive. The man in question came back from the vending machine in the hall, and broke into Jake's thoughts, "Find anything?"

Jake looked back at the database. "Yeah, hang on." Jake highlighted the section on the land management software, and pulled the map out from another tab. Armed with the information he needed, he tilted the screen so that it would swivel on the base, and said, "It's just off the highway."

The tip had come in, and they were going to do an open field search on a farm about 75 miles West of the office. "Pot's big business. At least it's not exotic animals and tweakers, huh?"

Jake took the teasing with good humor, though he remained impassive. "Just don't get a contact high." He switched the computer monitor back to the normal position, and looked down at the remainder of his lunch. Standing, he stuffed the other half of his sandwich in the baggie, and made no bones about taking it to the truck with him.

Lymon grabbed his soda, and picked up his hat. "My grandmother used to insist that there were no drugs in Darton county."

As they left the office and the bank of desks, Jake wondered what world Grandma Lymon had been living in.

Sam put her iced tea down. "Excuse me?" Sam wasn't trying to be rude, but it was kind of hard to keep the surprise out of her voice.

"You heard me." Teresa said, having no issue with pointing out her opinions to anyone, "I think you're missing the point of the whole story."

Sam wanted to help Teresa see the whole point of what she had written. She had been telling the Phantom's story, and in doing so, had glossed over the points that had nothing to do with him but she could not completely leave out. Sam knew it was a weak point of her work, but in all honesty, she wasn't sure, sometimes, where she was going to draw the line. Even as a journalist, she struggled with striking the right balance between facts and a slight hint of interpretation, sometimes. "It's the Phantom story."

"No, Sam." Teresa swallowed. She was so enthusiastic about both the discussion and the food that her attention seemed to be divided. However, in this moment, Sam felt Teresa's intensity zero in on her face, "It's your story, and by turning yourself into a casual observer rather than a player in your own life, you rob your story of movement, of progress, and yourself of agency."

Sam felt a few errors she had known existed in her work click into place. She had never felt quite comfortable with how it seemed to be dry, drier that most creative nonfiction. "How do you mean?"

"Well, take the bit about the Phantom being taken to a rodeo." Teresa said, "You write about the process, from the horse's point of view, but never once do you say how it made you feel, or what you resolved to do in that moment, or how seeing his suffering clearly made you a passionate person. You're being clinical and factual about things you have no right to be factual about."

Sam knew that the language was strong, but she had written that story so many times, until she could write it without feeling the pain of seeing that wild, beautiful, majestic horse, forced to resign his dignity and subvert his power and strength to people who didn't know him, and really didn't care to come to understand him. It had made her cry on the first few run throughs, and she knew that in writing it that was, she had been clouding up the words with her indelible bias.

Teresa seemed to be able to pull the thoughts from her mind. She added, "If you put your heart into it, your thoughts, people could relate, and could work for the change you so want. You can't have change without emotion. It's not enough to say what's wrong, you have to show us what that wrongness means in your soul."

Sam swallowed, finally, in some way, giving herself permission to doubt the sense in rewriting so much of the story. Maybe, just maybe, in dampening down the horrors of some of those moments, she had been dampening the joy, dampening the impact the Phantom's life could have upon people and the choices they made. "The Phantom's story isn't about me, though."

Teresa cut her off at the knees, with a firm tone. "You're the one he trusted enough to share his story with, you're the one he needs to tell it with every bit of your heart, Sam."

Sam was lost in thought for a moment. She had long been sold on the best path for his story, a factual explanation of what was happening in his world, and in the West as a broader context. But in the end, if the facts didn't paint a picture that made people want to act, what good were they? There needed to be a call for action, and her call to action at the end, maybe, might be better as something that was woven into the narrative. She could explore what was wrong, and what ought to change, through the eyes of person. She just wasn't sure that person ought to be her.

"You have the workings for an amazing novel. I just really think you need to tell the human story." Teresa smiled, "I have to ask, did all of the things you mention really happen?"

Sam was pulled back to the present, and answered without really thinking. "Yes, of course."

"Yes, of course, she says." Teresa teased, "You act like avalanches, and cougars, and wildfires happen to everyone."

"Lions, and tigers, and bears, oh my!" Sam smiled, making fun of herself.

Teresa added, "I really want to know more, and I get to ask you directly. Not everyone will be so lucky, and everyone can relate to being annoyed at their friends, and worried about their family, and angry at life. You mention your father's second wife, through her work, but you don't mention how you ended up with a stepmother."

Sam glowed internally at the praise of a friend she so respected. Teresa was a friend, but in many ways, Sam considered her a mentor, someone who had once walked the path she was walking now, and could share her experiences. That she did so with such openness and candor was the marker of her friendship, Sam had realized some months ago.

"The Phantom's story has to be central." Sam replied, not sure what Brynna had to do with anything. She wasn't about to give advice about how to manage a blended family. It wasn't like she fully understood the process, or was at ease with it, even now. "I'm a journalist, not Ann M. Martin, or something."

"So you have had thought about turning this into a novel?" Teresa said, excitedly. There was a light in her eyes that Sam wondered if she should worry about. Sam decided that she would worry later.

It was fun to talk about her writing with someone who understood it, and cared about it, could see beyond the words on the page. "Yes. It feels like my coming-of-age, and I can't help but think it would be fun to write about those days. "

"I agree." Teresa smiled, and Sam knew in that second that she was about to be challenged or teased, "Unless, of course, you were willing to fess up and admit that your beloved horse was a matchmaker and you could approach this that way. It would be a very lighthearted way to raise the profile of the wild horses."

Sam stared, for a good two seconds, "You're not actually suggesting I write a romance novel about myself and the Phantom?" That was just _odd_. She'd read countless stories about the love between horses and people, but never in a romantic context. That wasn't how that worked, at all.

"No, that might be a stretch." Her eyes took on a twinkle, and Sam realized that she was thinking over the short story Sam had written. Sam tried to think about what on earth she had written that made Teresa think of romance. "After all, no one would believe that the young man you mention in every section was little more than second fiddle to a horse, at least romantically."

Sam blushed. She hadn't even really thought about what she'd said about Jake, or how that might seem to someone. She hadn't written too glowingly about him, had she? He had always been there, and naturally, his role in the Phantom's life was one that could never be discounted. They acted like enemies, but at the core, they were brothers, united in their goals.

Teresa finished, "No, ma'am. I'm suggesting, rather badly, that you tell your story for what it is: one woman's journey to adulthood with the help of an amazing horse, a relatable family, and a archetypical cowboy for a sidekick turned lover."

That was...that was one way of putting things. "I, ah..." Sam gathered her thoughts. "From the time that Linc Slocum began making waves, and that he went to jail, I really grew up." Sam said, "That was when we got together, so it might be simply that coming through more than I'd thought. But I hardly think Jake and I are romance novel material."

Sam filed away the 'archetypical cowboy' bit for later. Jake didn't come across that way to her. He was far too three-dimensional, far too real, to be boiled down into a list of qualities or some cigarette ad. Still, it was rather funny and she planned to tease the living daylights out of him about it.

Teresa caught the smile on her face. "And of course, you'd get to share how you feel about his crimes in complete honesty, correct?" Teresa added, helpfully.

"I'd change his name first." Sam smiled, "After all, a journalist always protects her sources."

Teresa nodded, "So you're committed to trying your hand at a more human-driven novel?"

"I'll dip my toes into it." Sam said, having already come to that conclusion, "I don't know the first thing about that publishing scene. I was thinking on sending what I gave you to a magazine. I just want people to read it, and help the horses. I don't want them to forget the horses."

Sam didn't know anything much about fiction publishing. She knew she was going to stay within the creative non-fiction genre, at least for now, but even so, that created a whole category of questions to which she presently had no real answers.

"I think, Sam, that if you shared your story, your real story, with every bit of your heart and soul on the page, that it would be impossible to forget the Phantom's courage." Teresa added, "Because in taking your place as the one he picked to be his equal and his voice, you have to do it justice, and you have to put his story into words."

"Thank you." Sam said, meaning every ounce of the sentiment. A glimmer of an idea formed in her mind. She thought about the first draft she had written. It was actually the third draft, all told, but it was the first one that actually made any sense. It was the first one that was coherent, but unpolished and raw. It made her slightly uncomfortable to see all of her emotions out on the page like that, but she knew them to be true, even if she no longer felt the same way about some things. It made her feel open, vulnerable, exposed, and yet strong and perceptive. Sam knew that the risk was worth taking, "Just wait until you see my next draft to say nice things to me, okay?"

* * *

There were 500 pot plants spread out over the farm, intermixed between crops, some hidden, some out in the open. Earl Durkin was a nice enough guy, and hardly put up a fuss about going in. Jake figured it had something to do with the fact that he'd helped the man move the feed bags from the bed of his truck before starting on the field search with Lymon. It took hours to document, document, document, and then wait for others to show up and do their bits in removing the plants and taking soil samples. Jake actually thought it was cool that soil samples were needed to connect growers, and as such, were a vital piece of evidence.

"You look like a chimney-sweep." Lymon taunted, sucking down bottled water.

Jake stomped his foot to knock off dirt of his boots. "They needed help digging out and chopping those plants. I'm not too good to work hard or get dirty." It was a dig. Lymon was pristine, looking crisp despite the sweat that was beaded on his wide forehead. He hadn't pitched in, even though Earl was on his way to County. His property was going to have a controlled burn carried out, and steps were going to be taken to prohibit the growth of any plants in the future. Well, at least ones that were presently illegal.

Jake surveyed the work that was going on around him, and snapped a picture, a wide shot that would encapsulate the end of their day today. More work would have to be done, but the interesting part, the controlled burn of the land and the destruction of the plants, would wait until tomorrow.

Lymon looked at Jake, and squeezed the empty bottle so hard that the plastic cracked, as though he was crushing a soda can in his thick palms. "Don't think for a damn second that you're leaving me with the paperwork because you decided to roll around in the dirt."

* * *

Sam unrolled the crisp paper from the roll. It clattered to the floor. "Quinn!" She yelped, glad that Margaret had rolled away, and Louisa was still hanging onto her hip. "Don't drop it."

"I don't understand why you can't just make a list like normal people do." He groused, picking up the roll that Sam knew was undoubtably wrinkled.

"Because I need a timeline." They had made timelines all the time growing up. Quinn should understand this process, and the need to see everything out in front of her.

Louisa yanked at her ear, and Sam gently pulled her tiny fingers off of her ear, and kissed her hand. Louisa smiled, and the gummy expression melted Sam's heart. She was distracted, and so when she looked at the wall again, the paper was all but up. She grabbed the end and pulled. Quinn taped down the end, and Sam stood there until he came along with the tape for the end she was holding.

Quinn asked, "So your friend leaves, and you get to color?" Sam found it funny, how simple he could make things. He was discounting the hour she had spent feeding, changing, and settling the girls, the other hour it had taken her to do up the dishes, and play with the girls, and the twenty minutes she'd had to wait for Quinn to show up with the roll of paper from Max's storage. He'd come here first, and Sam had sent him on an errand to the storage room.

Sam nodded, and put Louisa in his arms, "Uh-huh. And you get to mind the children." Sam scuttled after Margaret, who had yet again found some fuzzy in the carpet. Sam scooped her up, and said, "Superbaby!"

Quinn's arms came reflexively around Margaret, with a practiced ease. "Maggie Moo, your mommy has lost her mind. Coloring on the walls is not okay."

The girls blinked owlishly when their mother cried hotly, "Don't call my kid Maggie Moo!"

"Sorry." He dropped his voice, a stage whisper that Sam was clearly meant to overhear. When he settled onto the couch with a book, "Loubalou, your Mommy is so touchy. Geez."

Sam barely resisted throwing a marker at him. "Fat lot of help you are!" However, she couldn't help but smile and stifle a giggle when Quinn laughed.

* * *

The wall was a mass of color. Jake was impressed. The black line was intersected by purple slashes, and above them, blue dates and jots of information filled a wide strip of paper. Even though he heard Sam and the girls upstairs, he paused long enough to study the timeline. There were post-it notes stuck around the paper, and uncapped markers littered the table.

It wasn't until he stared at the chaos for a moment that he understood that it was a timeline of the Phantom's life at the top, with a timeline of their family at the bottom. _Honey replaced Queen as LM _was written above _Fluffy the Rooster. _Jake remembered that Fluffy had come to River Bend as a favor to Darrell, and also because Sam would never want him to die. That period had been really interesting, as Jake remembered that so much had gone on then. He remembered his parents flying off the handle with worry when Sam was called in by Heck as a potential cattle rustler. That, in retrospect, was funny.

There were jots down across the wall. It was amazing to see his life so starkly put onto paper. There were notes about how they had totally ditched Mom's cousin's daughter Leah's wedding festivities to go onto the range. Sam neglected to mention that they'd gotten their behinds handed to them for that. Wyatt had paled something awful when Sam had, at about 16 he thought it was, caught the flowers at the wedding out in California. Come to think on it, they hadn't gotten married next.

There was so much on the paper. The time when Sam was 16 and Linc had gone to jail wasn't the end of the timeline, but it was clear Sam was focusing on those events as they were the most fleshed out. She had begun with her coming back home after a few months in San Francisco, and continued onto the present day. She wrote about Boots, about how he had been hidden in the Canyon, and below that wrote about Adam getting the job at the store. She wrote about getting the job at Trudy's, and about how the Phantom had led her out of trouble that same summer.

Jake heard Sam talking and the girls babbling, but he did not move or acknowledge them behind him. "What do you think?" Sam spoke from the stairs.

At that, Jake answered her honestly, "This has a lot of the markings of a serial killer." He took both of the girls from Sam, because he'd missed their cuddly little bodies. A few seconds of chatting with them, and he returned to the topic at hand, as though he had never stopped long enough to ask about the peas in Margaret's hair, "A fixed subject, meticulous attention to detail, anal retentive use of systematic coding meaningful only to the writer."

"Shut up, you beanbag." Sam said, picking up another marker, "I am not a serial killer. And if I were, I wouldn't tell..." She looked at him quizzically as she trailed off, "Were you rolling around in the dirt?"

Jake paused mid-turn. Louisa was giggling, and she stopped laughing when he stopped providing entertainment in the form of turning slow circles. "I dug up pot plants."

"Bring me any?" Sam teased. As if she had ever, or ever would smoke anything, let alone something that was illegal.

Jake didn't feel like teasing her. "How was Teresa's visit?"

"She thinks I should write a romance novel about us." Sam saw the look of horror that slid over his face like a death mask, and continued, "But I told her no. After all, I told Quinn and he said that if we were examples of romance then America is pretty screwed up."

"Thank God for Quinn thinking we're messed up or else you'd be the next Nora Roberts." Jake said, recalling the plastic covered library books that Sam sometimes took out and poked merciless fun at, even while continuing to read it. Her favorite was to read was the one about the fancy lawyer who plans a huge wedding. Jake only knew that because she'd sighed in relief and said, "I'm so glad we didn't mess around with all of that."

Sam huffed. "So I'm going with my third draft." She spoke softly. "And I need to really pick out the events that matter, hence the timeline."

"Want some help?" Jake offered. There were a few holes that she needed to fill in, especially with her own life. She'd forgotten the time she had a letter to the editor published in the paper, and the time that Kitt had arranged for her to be at the rodeo, down there with him.

Sam smiled, took a baby, and Jake picked up a marker. It was a nice family bonding activity, even if his wife did call him a beanbag. He wasn't keen on being called dorm room furniture, but it was better than a lot of her more creative vocabulary, and it was G-rated, which was something of a feat for Sam.

* * *

The timeline lived on the wall for the next three weeks, and Sam wrote like mad for the next three months. During those days, Sam wrote furiously, barely stopping to work or to clean. She mothered, of course, but her mind was consumed with being back in those days, wondering who she had been. She found herself asking herself so many times about the girl she had been, what had motivated her, and how she had become the woman she was today. In many ways, it was like meeting up with a stranger, one she had once been, but a stranger all the same.

It was jarring to Sam to realize how much the Phantom had been responsible for her growing up, her entry into the wider world, and how much her family had supported her. It was also amazing that she had insight into the people around her in ways that she had never expected.

One night, she hollered, "Jake!" She couldn't believe what the paper in front of her was saying. And yet, she had written it out as it happened, but had never, not once, not ever, connected the dots.

It was only then that she remembered that Jake was sitting not five feet from her, paperwork looming ahead for both of them after a long day in the barn. "What?"

He was used now, to be asking about factual information, about rocks and snow and soil and horses. She had bounced so much of her data off of him. But now, in this draft, she was throwing out her impressions of people. Sometimes he contrasted them, and sometimes he agreed, but the discussions

"Why didn't you ever tell me that Rachel was jealous of me?" She could hardly believe it. And yet, it was all there. She had flirted with Jake merciless, dropped hints about them in earlier years like crazy, had wheedled and teased Sam something awful about every subject, about the dirt on her boots, the fading on her department store jeans, her chipped nails, the way she talked, everything.

"You always paid her mind and got all wound up." He spoke as though the question was obvious. "It was more fun to watch you get all huffy and possessive."

"I was not huffy and possessive!" Sam asserted. "I...I..." She thought back to all the times that Jake had gone along with Rachel, been polite, as thought it was his pleasure to keep her company. "You said you liked her!"

"Sam." Jake looked up from his paperwork, then. There was a note of seriousness in his voice. "I was teasing you. You're honestly telling me that you didn't know that? For years?"

"No!" She exclaimed. "It was normal and healthy to like her. But my point is is that she was jealous of me, and I was jealous of her. I just never knew it was mutual."

"I'm not going to dig up where you got the idea that I liked her." Jake said, and Sam wanted scream. He'd told her he had liked her. He'd said. But. He'd said it so long ago, with that stupid glint in his eye. Had he been teasing? It didn't matter, Sam decided. He was embarrassed about a crush about a woman that would have never suited him as a teen. That was normal. "But of course she was jealous. You had all the things she wanted. A family that loves you, brothers that understood you, a place in the community, friends that cared about more than your father's Amex card. She was jealous. How did you not know that?"

Sam wondered how she had never known. It had never occurred to her until recently that her childhood and her life had been pretty amazing. She had been really blessed in life. Lost in thought as she looked over at the infants asleep on a mat on the floor, Sam realized that she had a lot than many would envy. If only she had understood that in high school. Sam turned back to writing, with better insight into her characters, and a better understanding of the world as it had been. If it had taken root in a better understanding of a childhood rivalry, well, only she and Jake were the ones who would ever know.

She tapped away at her computer every second she got, which admittedly wasn't a lot of time. Day by day, her story grew from a modest handful of pages to nearly 45,000 words. She wrote about coming home, about seeing the Phantom for the first time, two years after he'd gone missing and a year and a half after coming home from San Francisco. She wrote about turning 16, about realizing that she lived and breathed to protect the wild horses, with Jake by her side. She wrote about the Phantom teaching her things about life that no one else ever would. Finally, it was done. It was a thing of beauty, her heart and soul on paper, just as the girls were her heart and soul on feet.

It was largely for editing, but Sam printed out a draft of her book on sharp white paper. Holding the loose papers in her hand, hot off the inkjet printer, Sam felt a sense of completion, of rightness that settled something in the depths of her spirit. The title page read:

_The Phantom Horse: The King of the Range_

And it was just the beginning. Sam couldn't wait.

**_Sorry for the delay! No more delays are wanted, needed, or expected. This spring has been challenging personally, and busy professionally. However, I've already got next week's entry uploaded and ready to post. I promise next week is much more interesting! There needed to be some exposition though. _**


	6. Chapter 6

**Two shorter chapters combined, this week and last week's, for your perusal. **

Deep as she was in the writing process, real life didn't take a back seat. It took Sam some work to figure out how on earth she was to put her rushing mind on paper, and still be the kind of parent she wanted to be, the employee for Trudy that she needed to be, and a worker on the ranches like she had always been, to say nothing of anything else like talking to Jake and being there for Jen. Like writing for the paper, writing her book didn't have defined hours, but this time, she couldn't let it take over her life.

At times, though, Sam was glad that there were times when writing had to take a back seat, like during the times when the girls were freshly bathed, and needed a book and cuddle, or when Jake shut the lid of her laptop and teased her until even Ace wanted to prove him wrong.

"Sam?" Jake said, rising out buckets, the spray of the water splattering the worn denim that encased his body, "What do you think we should do for the baby?"

The baby to which he was referring, Sam knew, were not the girls that were being presently spoiled by Gram. No, he meant Seth's and Julia's baby, a baby that was due any second now. Sam had spoken to Julia just yesterday and she had begged for ways to get the baby out of her. Sam had empathized, but could not hide a laugh when she suggested raspberry leaf tea, and pineapple, because pineapple has the necessary chemical compounds, which are also found in certain other organic substances, but Sam wasn't going to suggest sex to her overly pregnant sister-in-law. Sam knew from experience that she herself hadn't wanted to hear anything about sex by that point in her pregnancy.

Sam jumped, her boots wet. "Hey!" She snapped, "What was that for?" Sam stomped her feet, shaking the water off of her feet, moving away from the slight puddle Jake had created on the concrete floor.

Jake dropped the nozzle, grinning. "You weren't paying attention. What are we going to do?"

Sam knew full well that Seth had been mostly behind the gifts that Louisa and Margaret had been given, because the boys had been nagging at her for weeks.

Sam rolled her eyes. "I've got it handled." Why he hadn't been paying attention to her efforts to collect scraps of their baby clothes over the last few weeks was beyond her.

Jake looked at her expectantly, a hint of impatience crossing his face.

Sam decided to play dumb and bedevil him a little bit. "I'm a bit behind on it because you guys are zero help with it, but it's almost done. Quinn said it was the best idea he'd ever heard, and Adam just loved it, and even Kitt sent suggestions."

Jake blew out a breath. "So I don't get a say?" He stacked the last bucket on the table, and began to clean up from the process from cleaning up.

Sam grabbed a towel and began to wipe up the mess they had made, making sure that the area was ready for use again, or as much as she could in a barn that was constantly in use. "Of course you did. I simply said it for you." Sam decided that she had had enough payback for the spraying incident. There was a drought on, and water couldn't afford to be wasted.

"Are you going to tell me what you're up to, or am I going to have to guess?" Jake said, after a long moment that was spent exiting the room, and heading down the aisle in the stone barn.

Siger yipped a bit, and Sam tossed him a peppermint before responding to Jake, "You want to see it, I take it?"

Jake made a sound that she took for agreement. Sam decided to make this easy on him, and not tease him any longer, mostly because she wanted to get a drink, and having him dog her tail for information was going to get in the way of that, especially since he seemed to think that the Strawberry juice had his name on it. "Fine, then." She turned around, walking backwards, feeling very smooth, "Meet me in the playroom in ten minutes."

Sam continued to stroll backwards, feeling very cool, that is until she tripped over a piece of hay and her own feet, and fell, sprawled on her behind.

She didn't feel so cool when Jake laughed.

* * *

Jake opened the creaking door to the attic, and remembered so much, as the scent of pine hit him, pine and wool and paint. He rarely came up here, anymore. It seemed a sacred space to him, one that he knew was always there, in the back of his mind, just like his childhood memories. It seemed a shrine to his childhood, to video games, and annoying siblings.

Sam sometimes came up here, to write, to hide, to stare at the bookcases on the wall and feel ensconced in her own little world, now that the playroom had long since stopped being a playroom. Jake didn't much come up here. He didn't like the idea that he was encroaching on a secret space. In his mind, it rarely changed, but in reality, there were signs of change everywhere.

There was a blanket thrown over the floor, a baby toy on the blanket, one of Sam's nursing bras thrown over the back of the couch. He could see growth and change everywhere in this room. Ten years ago, it had been full of Legos and Breyer Horses, and now, there was a computer on a desk that once had been the coveted space to do homework. The wheel was turning, though, and he knew one day it would be a playroom again.

And yet, the room hadn't changed that much, all told. There was still an air of life and clutter that made him feel comfortable in this space. The sewing machine Sam had gotten for her 13th birthday was set up on the card table, and there were scraps of fabric everywhere, with a quilt sitting under the foot of the machine making clear where her work had been invested recently. Jake ran his fingers over the soft velvet of the partially topstitched quilt, and he knew that the quilt was what Sam had brought him up here to show him.

Jake picked up a tiny scrap of fabric, and remembered hating the plaid shirt it had once been. It had been a hand-me-down, and he'd hated it. The flannel was very soft. Jake heard the door creak, and spoke when he knew Sam would be able to hear him, "You made a baby blanket out of our baby clothes."

"Some of them." Sam spoke from behind him, "This baby won't have the blessing of being raised here, Jake, but they need to know that, whoever they are, whoever they become, that they are one of us, that they belong, that they have a history that goes far deeper than their condo in San Francisco."

"It's a piece of home they can always have." Jake understood, then, the meaning of the scraps of fabric designed artfully to seem interesting, comfortable, and surprisingly gender neutral, given how much of the fabric had once belonged to a pack of rabble-scrabble little boys. She had softened the greens, blues, greys, and browns, with something cream, something yellow-white that he didn't recognize. "What's that fabric?"

He moved to sit down next to her on the sofa, let her head fall onto his chest, and took her left hand in his. "I'm told that one day, a long time ago, a hooligan of a little girl showed up one day. Nobody quite knew exactly how she fit, but she did, and so she stayed. It's said she went down in the Ely family history."

Jake was only a tiny bit overcome with the feelings in her voice, the laughter, the self-awareness, the simple statement of facts that had utterly shaped the course of history. Jake added, "She did. She had the worst temper, knobby knees, and was honestly the best thing that ever happened to that unmanageable horde of boys. Or so I hear tell."

Sam laughed, then, knowing that they were something to talk about in the small town of Alkali. "God, what will people say about us fifty years from now?"

Jake kissed the back of her palm, "That poor, poor, Deputy Ely can't retire because he has to bail his 80-year-old wife out of jail twice monthly for protesting and fighting the good fight."

Sam tilted her head, "That's likely."

* * *

Sam finished the quilt, and not 12 hours later did she get a call from Max, who had practically moved in at Seth and Julia's place before the birth, that labor was starting and that anyone who wanted to see the baby while they were in the hospital should get ready to go. Thankfully, it was Friday when she called, so when they left early in the morning on Saturday, they would be able to take their time getting back.

Sam hoped the casual dresses she'd packed for the girls wouldn't wrinkle. She had enough diapers, meaning she thought she had overpacked them, but would still have to pick up some more, and had every possible contingency covered. The girls, Sam realized, did not travel light, as she zipped up the large bag that they were sharing. She took the bag out to the Volvo, and remembered the days wherein she could be ready to leave and spend two days in the desert within 15 minutes, and with what she could fit in her saddle bags.

Jake followed, carrying two car seats with half-asleep babies in them. He popped the seats into the bases, and took a quick look over the ranch yard at three-thirty in the morning. All was still, and Dad was going to manage things, meaning that Pepper and Ross would be pitching in while everyone was gone. Sam and Jake were taking the weekend, but most everyone else was coming home tomorrow. It wasn't an easy thing to leave the ranches, but at least they didn't have milk cows, and Gram had volunteered to milk the goats with the caveat that Sam deliver a beribboned gift with care, next to a plainer package she'd wrapped herself.

Sam slid into the passenger seat, her knees knocking the dashboard because of the room the carseats required.

It was going to be a long trip.

* * *

Three hours later, Sam was sitting in the parking lot of a Love's 45 miles from the California state line, near Fernley, trying awkwardly to nurse in the front seat. She simply didn't have enough space. With something of a snarl, she pushed the lever on the side of the seat, and brushed up against the car seat, taking Louisa back with her. The fussing baby didn't settle until she found her preferred position and was assured of the availability of her food source. "This is silly, right?" Sam asked for confirmation in the otherwise empty car, "Mommy should not feel as silly as she does, should she?"

Louisa huffed. Sam decided that the awkward nursing cover thing had to go. It was paisley and awful. She could hardly see Louisa, and they were hardly in a populated area. If anyone saw her chest, so be it. The technically indecent parts were covered, and her role here was purely functional and if someone didn't like her tending to her children, they could kiss her behind. Sam tossed it carefully on the back seat, and Louisa snuffled, "Better, right?"

Louisa's pudgy little hand curled, in "Shush, Mommy, I'm eating, don't both me." gesture that spoke volumes. Her tiny nails dug into Sam's flesh, and Sam added the trimming of nails to Jake's to-do list. She refused to do it, for fear she'd chop off their fingers.

The car door opened, and a Kit Kat landed in the center console. Jake slid easily into the driver's seat with Margaret on his lap, who had something vaguely chocolate looking on her face. Sam looked at Jake sharply, "Did you give our ten month old chocolate?"

"She was looking at my snack cakes." Jake shrugged, and Sam noticed from the corner of her eye a couple of packs of snack cakes with all matter of frostings. "So I gave her a bit of filling."

"And I'm sure you swore each other to secrecy." Sam said, smoothing a hand over Margaret's arm as she reached out to pull on her sister.

"Not at all." Jake said, flipping down the visor to point out Margaret's face to her until Sam could grab her and feed her, "She brought enough back for Louisa. Hardly a secret, Sam."

Sam huffed a fake sigh, "We are terrible parents, look at us. Candy and cake at six-thirty."

Jake studied her, a smile tugging at his lips, "I would have gotten ice cream, but we can't fit a cooler in here anymore."

"Shut up." Sam said, without venom, kissing the fluffy head nestled against her body as she moved Louisa to make room for Margaret, who was no longer content to wait her turn.

* * *

Jake was bedraggled as he practically staggered to the door of the apartment building. The high-rise was nothing unusual in this city, but Jake felt saddle worn and dusty, walking into a place wholly unsuited to his mood. Quinn was waiting in the lobby area for them, and laughed outright when he saw them.

Jake cradled his sleeping daughter against his chest, and bit out, "You should have ridden with us."

"And what, taken 11 hours to do it?" Quinn chortled, "Sammy..." He seemed to think that their road weary expressions were funny. "What did you do, climb in a Volvo with a pair of fussy babies?"

"Funny ha-ha." She snapped, bouncing a very awake Margaret, whose face was red from protesting being in the car, and whose sleeper was rumpled. "Can it and find me a bathroom."

"I live to serve." He dramatically gestured towards the elevator. They got inside, dragging a bag each, and hammed it up, "Floor please? And how was your trip? Restful?"

"Fuck you, how about that?" Jake said, leaning against the wall, "Is that a floor? How about shut up and eat led, is that a floor? Or what about..."

"Would you just shut your face, Jake?" Sam snapped, as though it was his fault that Quinn was such an unmitigated assface. She disentangled Margaret's fingers from her hair, and pressed her more closely to her body.

Jake opened his mouth, ready to look at her and bite her head off for blaming him for this. Quinn was the one who'd started it. But he couldn't say anything when someone else got on the elevator, going up from the third floor to the ninth, and there was nothing to say that was fit for company.

He huffed, and looked the other direction pointedly. Not soon enough, the elevator opened and they got off, ignoring each other as they trooped down the hall to Seth's doorway. Sam pushed ahead, and pushed the door open, "Hello, goodbye, I have to pee."

She was comfortable enough with the apartment that she pushed Margaret at him, and bolted for the bathroom. Adam blinked at him, a huge question in his eyes as he said, "Hey, Maggie!"

"Don't even think it." Jake returned, wanting to call his brother every kind of name in the book. The twins were not even a year old, and besides, they were done. The prospect of getting pregnant naturally wasn't something that was likely to happen for them, and the idea that Adam's mind jumped there when he had nothing to go on poked at Jake's nerves. Instead of giving in to his urges because he hated everything right now, he said, "Say 'Hi' Margaret."

Mom bustled into the room, them, and was in her element. "Put a smile on, Jake!" She was lit up, "Oh, look at Nana's Margaret." Margaret made grabby hands, and Jake found himself with one less child to hold as Mom scooped her away towards the small kitchen.

Jake didn't feel like putting a smile on. He was hungry and tired, but he knew that he had no choice. He owed it to Seth to be supportive and to be happy. He was happy, overwhelmingly happy for Seth and Julia. This wasn't the first time that he was annoyed at Sam, and it wouldn't be the last.

She came out of the bathroom then, with her hair freshly pulled back and her shirt changed. "Do you want me to take her?"

Jake was keenly aware that, no matter how cheesed off he was at her for acting like the girl's upset and the stressful trip was his fault, she looked tired, too, that she was stressed out, too, and that the fact that everyone was getting on his nerves wasn't completely her fault. "I'll just put her down."

He wasn't sure, where, though, as there wasn't exactly a space for two growing infants around here. Mom called out, easily heard within the small space, "Oh, just put her on the bed."

Jake sat down on the couch, with Louisa, knowing that there was no way on earth that he was going into his brother's bedroom. There were boundaries, and if those boundaries meant that he could sit here and ignore people, he was going to be glad of them.

Sam put the sandwich on the plate and carried it into the living area. She sat down on the couch, and extended the plate to the person next to her, "It's turkey and cheese."

Jake took the half of the sandwich closest to him into his hand and bit it. "Thanks."

"Are you done being a grumpypants? Because we're going as soon as Nate shows up to see the baby." Sam said, "Who, by the by, I have information about, which you do not because you wanted to be a grumpypants."

Jake considered his options. "Clearly you want to tell me." He figured that it was easier to act like she he doing her a favor, rather than anything else.

"Well, he..." she said, stressing the baby's biological sex, "He and his mother are doing very well and would like any and all visitors to come before dinner." Her tone shifted, and her attention was fully elsewhere "Adam, just put her down if she's pulling at you. Margaret, you need to settle."

Jake looked over at his wife, and knew something beyond a shadow of a doubt. He leaned in, over the sleeping baby in his arms, and looked where Sam was looking, at the small girl sitting on her uncle's lap still grabbing at anything she could reach. "Margaret, your mother said no."

The baby blinked over at him, and Adam whispered something in her tiny ear. Jake knew very well that she was being told to ignore her stuffy parents. The expression on her little face was somehow so much like her mother that Jake almost laughed.

Said parents shared a look, and Jake continued on, softly, "You are as puffed up as a proud rooster because that baby's a boy."

Sam shook her head, "Now, why would I care about a thing like that? That's horrible to say!"

Jake snorted. She was proud as a peacock that she had been the only person to provide the Ely family any girls in generations, and had given them two girls who were beautiful and remarkable, and far more than the sum total of their parts. Nobody else could claim that, Jake thought, somewhat smugly, on his wife's behalf, of course. "You're just glad you've got a corner of the market, is all I'm saying."

Sam looked at him baldly, honesty in her eyes, "For your sake, I am, a bit." Jake didn't quite know what she meant, exactly, but he was content to let it go. They would have loved Seth's baby even if had been a girl, and there was no harm meant in the teasing. However, Sam seemed to find a truth in it that he could not yet see.

Sam opened her mouth to continue when Quinn cut in, "Come on, you can make up later. The amount of cutesy in here in is making me sick."

* * *

Sam was about ready to go. She had one last thing to do, now that Louisa was awake, both girls were changed, and were playing happily with each other, as much as tandem play could be considered group play. "Alright, ladies." Sam was very careful to get down on their level, "Daddy and I are going to visit your cousin, and you're both going to stay with Nana, and have lots of fun."

Jake pressed a soft kiss to little hands, "Have fun." Jake pushed himself to his feet, and extended an arm to Sam, not that she needed the support any longer. It was now a firmly engrained habit, in both of them it seemed, for she pulled up with the lightest of touches. "Mom, just call if we're not back by the time..."

"Go." Max cut him off, making a shooing motion, "You act like I didn't see seven children to adulthood. You survived. And look at you all now."

Jake shifted. Sam understood his hesitation. They said that children often had separation issues, well, in truth, it was more like that and Jake didn't much like leaving the girls. Sam knew that doing so was important for their development. It taught them to get along on their own, and also highlighted the fact that while their parents might go places, that they would always, always, come back.

The boys trooped out in front of her, and Sam couldn't resist adding, "Yeah." Sam agreed, "Six perfectly average children, and one colossal weirdo."

"Get on with you." Max laughed, as Sam walked to the door.

"Who you calling normal?" Adam seemed genuinely curious as they walked towards the elevator. Jake pushed the down button quickly, and Sam rocked back on her heels, drawing her response deeply inside of herself.

After a second, Nate couldn't contain his curiosity. "Which one of us is the weird?"

Sam tilted her head, "Like I'd tell you."

There was good natured joshing at that, "Sammy, come on, we're inducting you into a formerly boys only event." Quinn said.

Without missing a beat, Nate added, "Shouldn't we get a bit of leeway for that? Our brother's just had a baby."

The lobby that opened to Mission Street was sleek and lovely, though Sam found it a little bit cold and too cleanly designed. There was no personality to its edginess. "No, he didn't. Julia had a baby."

They moved through the lobby. Adam was at the head of the group, so he opened the door, and held one as they pushed through the double doors. Sam continued, "And when he grows a uterus, and gains 60 pounds..."

"And tackles armed criminals to the ground..." Quinn interjected quickly.

"Then he can say he's had a baby. Otherwise, he's become a father, which is not the same thing at all." Sam finished, taking a look around.

The crowd was thin for this time of the day, and they were able to stand like lumps on the sidewalk. "We're going to Moore Women's?" Sam clarified, and when Adam said that they were, she took a look at her phone.

"Alright, so we need to get to Market and 7th." Sam consulted the map in her brain, that somehow had not been diminished from her months with Aunt Sue.

Confused faces met her pronouncement. "You guys act like you haven't ever been here. What we you going to do, walk?" Nobody walked that distance, not when they were in SoMa, not when they could easily take the bus. "Come on, there's no time, get walking. I hope you have three dollars each, I can't pay your fair."

"You didn't even bring your purse." Jake said, "So I don't know how you expect to pay your own way."

Sam smiled. She hadn't been about to bring her big bag along. They weren't going anywhere close to that shady area around Sixth and Mission, as they'd be turning, but there was no telling what could happen, and she wasn't comfortable with the risk, as SoMa was a bit iffy, if trendy and happening. Caution in this city had been hard engrained in her. "Please." She said with a snort, a chide, not a question.

The five minute walk passed easily. Sam breathed deeply, wishing she had a camera with her. Her shutter finger was itching as she saw the bevy of people in the neighborhood. There was a ton of subcultures easily visible in the melting pot that was this neighborhood from hipsters, to professionals, to techies, to some more interesting people. "And I thought I'd be looked at for walking down the street with a duck themed gift." Bryan said, as they passed an interesting couple. He was easily carrying a twine wrapped package and Grace's gift.

"Welcome to the city." Sam almost was able to deadpan the statement, but she couldn't in the end. Soma was a far cry from Darton County, and both were great in their own way.

Jake didn't pay her any mind except to look at her, as they got to the stop, and a bus rolled up.

"9R, Sammy?" Nate asked, "How do you even know we're not going to end up at the Wharf?"

They had made her memorize and understand the bus and public transit system in rehab, and she had been hospitalized at Benioff, which was on the same campus as Moore Women's. "I was at Benioff for months, you know that. It's the same campus."

"I was joking, honey." Nate said, as they awkwardly paid their fare and sat down. "Is this okay for you? You haven't been back in years..."

She hadn't come back to Benioff, that much was true, but there hadn't ever really been a need. Her yearly neurological exam was easily handled in Elko. She tried to schedule it in the same day as her dentist appointments, just to get them both over and done.

"I'm not going back." Sam brushed off his concerns. "And even if I were, there's no reason to really care. Benioff was good to me, all told. It's the first place we'd come if the girls needed specialized care."

"If nothing else, you know how the medical system works." Adam agreed, turning to the window. Thankfully, they had all gotten seats, and she was blocked in by Jake, who in his customary way was putting himself between her and the potential dangers of the world. He sat facing out at restaurants, with his back to the wall, walked on the outside of the shoulder of the road, and took the outside seat on a bus, it seemed. He hadn't done that since Vegas, but old Westian habits died hard. Sam made a mental note to call Rosalind next week.

After another five stops on the 55, they had a two minute walk to the front door of the hospital. Nate, at least partially, was right. Coming back was a little bit odd. There had been changes, but it was much the same campus. Sam wondered if the old hole in the wall restaurant she'd enjoyed was around. Every time she had had a trying or difficult doctor's appointment, Sue and she would go for lunch, and it was a bright spot in boring days, because Sam had felt very adult there, and control and composure had been hard to come by then.

Jake watched Sam carefully. He couldn't exactly help it. She had navigated the city with a skill that he admired in her, mostly because public transit made little sense to him, in his core. Sam walked into the women's hospital like she owned the place, "Ah, memories..." she said, and Jake knew that whatever was going to come out of her mouth was meant to try and put their brothers at ease, "I had my first pelvic exam here. A girl doesn't forget that."

Jake jabbed her in the arm, a hint to look over and catch the faint blushes growing near collars. They were so easy to tease. Sam relaxed, satisfied that they had stopped thinking about her in any sense, pulling their minds to topics like crops and football and horses.

Adam slipped away to ask the greeter about how to get to Julia's room. They were soon there. Sam took the lead on this, and knocked softly at the partially closed door. She stuck her head in, and then led them all in like ducks in a line into the semi-private room, which was unoccupied except for a satisfied Julia, and a exhausted looking Seth. Everything seemed in order there, then.

There were congratulations all around. It was after a minute of giving men hugs, as Sam called them, and saying the various nice things to Julia. Jake caught Sam's eye, wondering where their baby was. Sam hadn't let the girls out of the room, and Jake hadn't let them out of his sight.

Julia spoke then, "They're coming from the nursery." While they waited, hands were washed, and smiles were shared.

Easily, Sam strong-armed her way to the front of the baby holding line, and took him from the bassinet with permission, "Oh, look at you, kind sir." Sam's bearing shifted in a way that seemed somehow softer. The girl who had strong-armed her way through the city took a back seat, and here was the woman who kissed fuzzy heads and sang songs and told silly stories. "He's beautiful."

She carried the baby towards the bevy of men waiting to meet him. Frankly, Jake didn't think he was all that beautiful, but what did he know about babies? They all looked the same, except the girls. Now, they had been beautiful newborns. Sam was probably being nice.

Seth, though, Seth was glowing with a quiet pride. "His name is Maxen." Sam stroked the tiny hand that had burrowed out from his wrap, and nodded, as though she could tell that the name fit him, potato faced old man that he was. Jake thought his cloudy blue eyes were intelligent, because he seemed to be trying to see Sam.

"Mom's thrilled, huh?" Bryan asked, "What'd she do when you told her?"

Julia answered, "She was very pleased. Maxen James, after your mother and my father. We were going to call him Maxen Uriah, but we think he looks more like a James."

Jake, personally thought that he was also less likely to get his butt kicked if anyone ever found out his middle name. It was a family name, sure, on his father's side, but it also had some great nicknames. Maxen was still is the sleepy newborn stage, but Adam asked for his turn, so Sam shifted him over with a quiet, "Mind his head..."

Jake took his turn in holding Maxen. It seemed so odd to him that Seth, brainy, goofy, serious, Seth, was a parent. It humbled him, to know that his brother was walking the same path, in his own way. Jake wondered, holding this scrap of humanity that was completely sacred and new, if their brothers had felt this same rush of emotion the moment they'd held the girls. Jake knew the second that Maxen's eggshell head nestled against his arm that this boy was a miracle, just like the twins. For the third time in his life, Jake felt an unshakable love for another person that he knew time would never break. This was his brother's child, and he was very, very, very, loved. Jake did not try to hide the way his work roughened finger touched a tiny cheek and little lashes fluttered.

"In the time honored tradition of Ely's everywhere..." Sam began, "Well, since last October, and in Darton County, because our cousins are odious, and not to be trusted in gift selection, we..." She presented the box to Julia, "have a gift for Maxen."

"Smooth intro, Sammy." Seth said, taking the twine from the plain box Sam had taken off of the counter. "I'm going to tell, though."

Sam hummed a satisfied note.

The quilt was soon pulled from the box, with sure and curious hands. Sam, Jake saw, had steamed it, and made it look even more beautiful. It was art, cuddly art, and the gratitude on their faces was no less than the thanks he and Sam had felt for the gifts that the girls had been given. "This is from you guys?"

Sam nodded. "We figured Maxen needed a little bit of home, no matter where he goes in life."

"Thank you, guys." Julia said, "That's very kind of all of you. Thank you." Jake had had almost nothing to do with the gift, but he understood what Julia was saying.

"This dinosaur fabric was a pair of footy pajamas that Seth wore until he was at least nine..." Sam said, pointing to one bit of fabric, and then another, "...And this was his dress shirt, which became a hand-me down until it was cut down into a shirtdress."

After a few minutes of chatting, they left the new little branch of the Ely family to bond. Taking Sam's hand as they walked toward the bus, he said, "He's beautiful." Jake meant every word of it. He was, much as the girls were, the future of the land they had vowed to honor, and the stories they would create together and pass down.

The wheel was turning, and it was beautiful.

**Next week we get to see Sam in her old stomping grounds of SF, at least in the Normal 'Verse. **


	7. Chapter 7

**If you're going to San Francisco, make sure to wear good comfortable shoes. (That might not be pretty, but it's true). **

Jake found himself, somehow, with his hand on Sam's hip as she boosted herself onto the high stool at their table. She'd rushed off to the bathroom to tie up her hair, he knew, because she planned to eat and her braid had come loose. She still hadn't managed to figure out how to eat without her hair getting in her face. The stool seemed as tall as she was, and Quinn smirked as she found her footing and maneuvered herself upwards. "Now I know why you picked this place."

Quinn patted his pocket, and reached for the menu that the host had set before them on the small, wooden table. "The reviews on Yelp were good." The small restaurant smelled fantastic, and the air was hazy with good scents and the soft chatter of customers. It never hurt, though, to tease Sam a little bit.

"Uh-huh." Bryan said, "And I really want some wings, personally." He opened the menu, as though he hadn't been looking over it since he'd sat down. Sam pulled her straw out a bit and blew the white paper that had covered it at Bryan, but it landed on Adam.

"You forgot to compensate for the fan." He ticked his eyes upward, and took up the white paper, tying it deftly into a knot and placing it in front of Jake.

Jake moved it. He wasn't letting his spot at the table become the designated garbage pile for the millionth time in his life.

Nate took a pull from his beer as though he was utterly contented to let chaos reign.

"What are we doing tomorrow?" Jake asked, mostly to avoid the inane discussions of what they all wanted to eat. Banal discussions like that set his teeth on edge, because nobody really and honestly cared. He knew that people weren't going to be as adventurous with their food choices as they said they would be. It was the Ely way.

Sam sipped at the tea in front of her, and then reached across a speaking Quinn to grab at the sweeteners. "Hey!" Quinn said, when she ended up leaning on him, almost leaning completely off of her stool, without a care for her balance. Jake pinched the closest belt loop of her jeans, and Quinn pushed her up just as she gracefully righted herself, "Didn't anybody ever tell you not to reach?"

"Whatever." She shook her packets, as though clearly vindicated, and replied to Jake as she tore the paper tops from the pink packets. "I thought the girls would enjoy that Tummy Timez play place, or whatever, so if you want to do that after lunch with Sue, and then we'll go home."

"We're going to have to budget 10 hours for the trip..." Jake added. "But I'll go back for naps, while you and Sue..." Jake did not finish the sentence, knowing that Sam was going to act like she was being tortured because somebody else wanted to go to the store. Sam had conveniently left that little detail out of her plan.

"Couldn't you go to Union Square instead?" Sam said, "I hate shopping retail..."

He'd been listening to her for days over this. It was a few hours spent to make her aunt happy. Sam could, and should, and would, suck it up. She hadn't purchased anything new since that maternity dress of hers, and here she was, going on like he had been the one to insist on the activity.

Jake looked across the table at Bryan, and asked, "How's the store?"

From beside him, Sam let out an indignant huff. "You're not even listening."

Bryan said, "Fine, we have a few land classes coming up, and we're doing more marketing to rock climbers this season, which is fun." Jake had always found rock climbing to be dangerous and foolhardy, but he did sort of want to try properly it once, after rappelling down the sides of mountains with ropes and horses as backup.

Before Bryan finished speaking, Sam cut in again, "Quinn, how do you feel about a shopping trip to..."

"Are you going to waste the entire dinner whining like a toddler?" Quinn cut off Sam's warm-up with a direct question.

"I could if you wanted." Sam returned, the other conversations at the table swirling around them. Jake had lost track of what Bryan was saying to him, only to realize that Bryan had stopped to listen to the exchange next to them.

Jake rolled his eyes and continued on talking about the store in Reno, knowing full well that Sam was going to spend the entire afternoon in Baby Gap. He sometimes envied Bryan's job, his ability to shut up shop at the end of the day, and know that he could go home and know that tomorrow would be something new. Jake was starting to feel as though there were no end to his office work, no end to the piles of paperwork, no end to the piles and piles of case notes. In Vegas, paperwork had been different, a break from the mad rush of the days with West. It had taught him how to do his job, given him the moments to reflect and develop his skills as he wrote and filed, but now, now he missed Vegas, missed the activity, the pace, not for the people, but for the pace of the cases, the volume of them.

Oddly enough, it was the interaction with people on the street that he missed. Here, he conducted interviews, but not until after the case notes had been complied by responding officers. He knew that was normal, but Jake missed being first on the scene, being the one to come up with theories that put the case together. Here, he felt like a tag-along, who came to rubber stamp things, who was just another cog in a wheel. He couldn't really feel the connection with people, anymore, and he found that he hated that.

Sure, he probably had screwed up big time jumping in with the Slocum case like he had done. Ballard likely still didn't trust him. Then again, he didn't feel an ounce of guilt or remorse about his choices or his motivations. The men were in jail, and they had gotten off lightly as far as Jake was concerned, after hurting Quinn and putting Sam in danger. Thank God for that gun in her baby bag. But the months were passing, and honestly, Jake missed the rush of putting together the puzzle and going with his gut.

Sam didn't know. He couldn't really tell her that he was growing steadily apathetic about a job that was supposed to sustain them for the next 60 years. How could he have made such a mess of it? Jake looked down into his soda, and found nothing to guide him in the popping of the carbonation, not that he expected to find anything there. It just seemed to him that everyone around him was in lockstep sync with their chosen professions and he felt alien and guilty for not feeling the same way.

Their food came pretty quickly after ordering, for which Jake was entirely glad. It had been a hellishly long, emotional roller coaster of day. He just wanted to go back to Sue's, and sprawl together on the couch with his family, and look at their increasingly expressive faces, and know that everything was right in the world.

The onions Sam passed to him broke into his thoughts, and he lifted his bun and passed her the lettuce, and the extra cheese. There was half a block, it seemed, on his burger, and he didn't want all of it. Sam took it, mid-conversation with Bryan, and Jake was glad to be left alone for a few seconds.

He was happy to eat and listen to voices all around him, until Adam kicked him under the table.

Jake looked up from his burger, sharply.

Nate clearly was repeating himself, "...guy came in with his stock dog, and they want the store to sponsor a trial."

Jake didn't know what he was supposed to say to that, and he waited, unwilling to ask what that was supposed to mean to him.

Sam came to his rescue once again, though he would never tell her that. "We'd love to come, Nate, really, provided we both get the time off." Sam replied, and Jake got the idea that he had completely tuned out an invitation to a stock dog trial.

"You work at home half the time, Sam." Adam said, "Trudy wouldn't mind if you took your computer with you."

"You're just jealous of my job flexibility, and my fabulous benefits package." Sam dipped a fry into sauce.

"Never mind the fact that you get stomped upon and bit more than should be humanly possible." Quinn returned, never one to let anybody have the last word. Trudy's rescues were settled, but every so often, as was the way with horses, one or two decided that the people that cared for them would make a nice snack. Sam had a huge bite on the inside of her forearm. One of the mares had bit down and pulled, expanding the mark on her eggshell fragile skin, and left a dark purple bruise to bloom.

"Well..." Sam was up to no good. Jake could hear it in the way her vowels pulled and her eyes sparkled, "They are your nieces. I'm afraid my good influence can only go so far to deter a genetic predisposition towards hell-raising."

It was all Jake could do to swallow the soda in his mouth. He might have wheezed when soda went down the wrong pipe. Sam slanted a look over at him, playing with her straw, "What?"

Jake shook his head, and took pleasure in the simultaneous looks that floated around the table. Sam really was deluded if she though her influence did anything to counterbalance their adventurous ways. Her penchant for trouble and excitement exceeded all of theirs, combined, times eight or nine, depending on the day.

But damn if she didn't look good with those babies in her arms.

* * *

The double stroller cut through the wide store aisles with some difficulty, and the idea of getting fully around a rack was impossible, though the stroller was designed to be as narrow as a single stroller, Sam knew that any stroller would have difficulty around these jammed racks. "What do you think?" Sam held up a blue tunic top and little leggings to match in one hand, and a orange set in another. Both twins were wide awake and enraptured with the consumerism around them. Sam prayed they would grow up enjoying online shopping."This one goes with what you have already..." she indicated the blue one, "But the orange set is very trendy."

She knew that Louisa and Margaret were considering their options and coming to a consensus.

Bold bright neons were in this season, or something, according to Molly, whose fashion choices had shifted a bit to include these tropical colors. She had new boat shoes that were neon. Sam could not help but laugh. Things that were popular decades ago were coming back, and here she was in a jeans, tank top, boots, and overblouse like every other day of the week.

"Oh, get them both sets, Sammy." Sue declared, coming up next to them after having been distracted by something sparkly, "And the little sweater to match." Sue held out a small beaded sweater with cap sleeves. Sam wondered who on earth would bead a sweater for infants who put everything they could into their mouths, eventually.

Louisa leaned forward, sitting up as she was in the seat next to her sister, and Sam took that to mean a vote for the blue. Margaret, naturally, went for the orange, by sticking her fingers into her mouth. Sam knew that the matter was settled, "Both it is then." She realized that they could mix and match the sets with what they had, and they were cute, "But no sweater."

Sue put it back. "I guess they would try to eat the little flowers." Sam allowed Sue to go ahead of her, simply because she needed the space to turn around. "But you were right, bringing them was a good idea."

Actually, it was a fantastic idea. They'd come along because they didn't want to sleep, and because Sam couldn't really blame them. Jake was wherever he was, doing whatever, and Sam knew that their shopping trip was just about done. They'd been here a good two hours, after eating fantastic Chinese food, and Sam knew the twins were a good reason to be getting along with the day. They were going to meet at the park, stretch their legs, and hit the trail. "I think we've found everything we want." Sam said, pushing the side-by-side stroller towards the registers near the front. "How about you?"

Louisa made a loud noise, likely to test the acoustics in this wide store. "Eeeeppp!" She cried, and flailed back against her seat, "Eeeepp!"

Margaret agreed with a loud hoot.

Some lady turned and looked. Sam realized that she didn't have kids. Kids screamed. It was hardly newsworthy.

"Shhh..." Sam said, "We're using indoor voices, please." They were wide awake, joyous through nap time, riding high on the change in schedules, locations, and routines. Sam knew that she and Jake were going to be dealing with the transition back to normal very soon, and she hoped it would be easy.

"Mwap." Babbled Margaret, as the stroller slid up to the checkout line. It sounded like a sigh, and Sam knew exactly how she felt. They might have only been here three hours, but they had hit almost every store on Union Square, it seemed like, as Sue, who understood time constraints, had elected to power-shop rather than selectively narrow down the stores.

Sue paid easily for her purchases, and Sam followed along back to the apartment, navigating with the stroller without finesse, like all of the other mothers she saw with their Picklebottom bags and their burlap seat covers. The baby play place had been closed, so they arranged to meet Jake at the park near Sue's, after a bit of shopping Sam had hoped to avoid. It worked out well this way, though, as they would be getting an earlier start, and the girls would sleep more through the throng of city traffic.

Back at Sue's, they dropped off the shopping, and Sam flexed her fingers over the stroller's handlebars. The side-by-side configuration was as narrow as a single seat stroller, but it was heavy, and these hills, as fit as Sam was, challenged her endurance. Thankfully, the park was downhill, even though Sam found herself pulling back to stop the stroller from rolling, God forbid, away from her.

Sam had loved and hated this park during her time with Sue, short though the one school term had really been in retrospect. She had loved it on good days, because the small patch of open spaces and the blacktop paths were the one place she had found peace. On bad days, she hadn't come here, but the thought of seeing anyone or anything that even reminded her of home had been unbearable.

Nobody, Sam realized, had really talked about the depression and the wrongness that had taken root in her soul after the accident, not because of her body, but because she had not been in the places and spaces she had loved. Only time had healed it, time and an endless cycle of run-ins with Linc Slocum, not that she would ever send him a thank you card over it. In unison, Louisa and Margaret leaned sharply against the back of their seats, rocking it. "Careful." Sam admonished.

The act of coming back here was incredible. Sam had, as a 14 year old schoolgirl, dreamed of walking these paths and feeling like she belonged in the hustle and bustle, like she belonged in the park, instead of as though it was a jail. It was exactly the same as she remembered it, right down to the things that had changed. The people playing here might be different on a given day, but she saw the same things that had caused to her bleed, playing and running and bustling families, in new ways.

She saw the flowers the running children and the popcorn vendor through new eyes. She saw the place that had once been a hell for her through the eyes of two little girls, through the eyes of a woman who had grown up to be thankful, in many ways, for the pain she had endured. It was heady, and Sam leaned down carefully, and pointed, "Look at the butterflies, girls."

She came to a stop right in front of a wooden flower bed. It had been refashioned, no doubt, but the sign was the same. It was a bronze plate proclaiming this space to be a butterfly garden prepared by the Master Gardeners and the Garden Club. The flowers called to the butterflies.

Sam remembered watching the butterflies that spring, wishing she could be like them, wishing she could break out of her body and fly far away, fly to the places her soul knew as well as butterfly knew her migratory pattern.

Sam focused on the slight look of interest that bloomed on Margaret's face when a bold butterfly landed on the stroller. Louisa noticed, too, and they sat in silence as the world spun around them, transfixed by a butterfly. It was a common butterfly, brown and yellow and orange, and Sam knew that it had been imported here and was little more than a park pet, fed by the Kool-aid and soy sauce mixtures in the nearby shed that was the butterfly house. It wasn't the right time for butterflies, and yet, it stayed, knowing that its day would come.

After a time, the butterfly flew away, back to where it wanted to be, and they moved along. Sam felt the pavement under her feet. She couldn't stop walking towards the center of the park, the place that had haunted her for months, not that she really wanted to not see it. It wouldn't be the same anyway.

And yet, somehow, when Sam came to the end of the path and the main square of the park, it was exactly the same. All of the divergent paths leading to the heart of the park converged here, in front of the horses. The horses in the park were there as they had always been, calling to her, reminding her. Sam found that this time, she could smile, and know that these horses were not her horses.

In the past, as a child, she had somehow thought that the horses had looked at her, looked at her as they gave rides to city children, and known what she had done, known how black her soul had felt. They had seen in the way that only horses could, and she could never bear the mirror in their eyes.

Sam knew that what her worst problem had been, though, was the envy. The envy of the leaders who led the horses, the sidewalkers who kept the kids on the horses. She had been envy of their ease around the horses, the right to be with them, the certain way they moved and acted. She had been dead sure, in those days, that she would never have what they had. She had once sat, shaking with self-loathing and pain, on the benches, like a junkie watching a dealer.

Sam looked away from the horses, to her old spot on the iron benches, and found, in the same spot, with the best vantage point of both the walkway and the horses, sat a brown-haired cowboy, who had his eyes fixed on her, waiting, watching.

Sam felt a bit of that teenaged girl inside her heart smile. Sam would never confess it, but long ago, she had dreamed of this moment, dreamed of a silly moment wherein she would show up at the park again after a PT session and her family would be there. _Jake_ would be there. And somehow, never mind the years and the moments that had passed, having that childhood dream come true quieted something that still yearned in her soul, not because he was rescuing her from her despair as she had once dreamed about, but because she had, in this moment, come full circle.

She had come fully circle in ways that she could not even ever have dreamed. Sam felt Jake's smile, even though she could not see it, as she knelt down, and pointed, "Look, girls, horses!"

Sam couldn't hide her own smile when Margaret looked over at her as though to say, "So what? We've got those, lots of those. You don't expect me to be thrilled, do you? Show me the trolly again; that was fun!"

Louisa on the other hand, made grabby hands, and Sam decided that they were clearly for the horses, and not her father, who had given up watching from the bench, and was making his way through the crowd easily, to join his family. Sam turned back to the horses, and addressed her daughters softly, "These horses helped Mommy once. See how pretty they are?"

They had helped her to know it was time to go home. And, looking up to Jake, and his soft, knowing eyes, she knew that time had come again. It was time to face the future, and face it boldly, knowing that it was never too late for something beautiful to emerge out of the ashes of the past.

**Next update will be a bit of a time jump! Stay tuned, we're heading to rising-action-ville. I hear the view is great there.**

**Thanks for the hits and the views! **

**A favor to ask: I am going to be either updating a) magic moments or b) one of the guys. Please let me know which you want to see updated first. Also, please request any one-shots you'd like to see written up. I'm going to be a bit freer soon, I hope, and have lots of writing to upload and want to do some more. **


	8. Chapter 8

**Remember: In which cannon is turned on its head, turned right side up, and subverted. Remember that ANN has always been AU, and in talking about ****canon PS, Sam illustrates how we've diverged from the plot from the start. It also serves to give a sense of where Sam is heading in writing her book. Basically, her book will follow the texts we have, but that's not 'reality' in this AU, if that makes sense. Jake makes a good point talking about Laura Ingalls Wilder. **

The Following May...

Jake blamed West for this sinking feeling in his gut, the fog that chased him, the sense of loss in his veins. Mostly, he blamed West for his unrealistic expectations of his job. Working with West had been, if not fun, then at least varied, because West, Jake had learned over the last year, had never had to just do his job. He'd done what he'd damned well pleased, and brought Jake along for the ride. West had taken him on calls, done roadblocks, speed traps, guest speeches, profiling, murders, theft, and anything and everything that had come across his desk, including his own department of organized crime. Jake had come to see that the real world just didn't work that way.

He closed the lid of his laptop, and rubbed his eyes. He hadn't done anything but paperwork, phone calls, and follow ups for more than six weeks now. Oh, every once and a while there was a new case. Livestock theft, land disputes, and vandalism all accounted for Jake's last cases over the last few months.

He unplugged his laptop and slid it into the same bag he'd been using for years, locked his file drawer, and grabbed his travel cup. Just as Jake was taking one last resigned look over his worn desk, a text came through. Jake looked at his phone as he rose from his desk.

_We're out of Teddy Grahams. I'm distracting with grapes, but it isn't working. The blue box, please, not the yellow. _

Jake texted Sam in reply, _Why won't you admit that you like the chocolate chip ones? L &amp; M don't care. _

By the time he was ducking through the rain towards his trusty Scout, Jake felt the buzz of his phone in his pocket. Jake figured that warming up this foggy window was the first step, so he ignored the reply to hop up in the truck and stick the key in the ignition.

It spluttered. Just when he had figured his day couldn't get any more stressful, the truck acted up. Jake blew out a breath and tried again, and the Scout reluctantly turned on, the wipers gearing up as rain pelted the window.

Jake jacked the defroster, and pulled out his phone. Sam had replied, _Look, if I have to bite the heads off of the tiny little bears, they're going to at least be tasty. _

Jake replied, _Decapitator. _

Sam did not reply, and soon enough, Jake found himself making his way through the late spring weather to the grocery store, wherein he got two boxes of the requested cookies, a bag of kale, two pints of that fancy ice cream he liked, and a bag of Skittles. Jake had learned, over the last few months, since the girls had started making their preferences known, that it was sometimes easier to shop alone.

The last time the girls had come along, Louisa had screamed, "Mine! Mine!" upon seeing a bag of giant marshmallows. They'd left the store with said marshmallows, which both of their children hated. Luckily, Cody liked marshmallows.

Margaret had been far more sensible, and demanded oranges. Jake had been pushing the cart she was in, because they needed two any time they had a big shopping order, and had made the mistake of letting her hold one of the citrus fruits he'd placed in the cart, in response to her leaning out of the cart, and reaching for another one. So, like any sensible child who would be two in October, she'd promptly used her baby sharp teeth to take a bite out of the rind.

He was in and out of the grocery in 12 minutes, without having to fish out rinds from his baby's mouth, or watch Sam glare at him for being stupid as she cuddled a shocked baby, who sobbed her heart out over her favorite fruit's ability to betray her as it had done.

Jake inserted the key with a prayer. The Scout did not start for the millionth time in the last two weeks. He tried again. Nothing.

Finally, he took out the key, inserted it, and began anew. It spluttered, the sound reverberating above the spring rain. He'd been having trouble with the Scout for weeks, and it was only getting worse, no matter the stopgap measures he put into place. "Please." Jake blurted, to the cab, "I swear to God, just get me home or..." The truck started with a rumble that sounded like Jake had work to do, which he knew he did, and Jake left the threat unspoken.

Still, he breathed a sigh of relief when he crossed over onto family land, knowing that at least from there, he could walk without the ice cream melting. The Scout did her job, but Jake knew that the time to face facts had come rolling in like the rain on a previously calm spring day.

The Scout had been produced in 1979. Since that date, she had been hauling people around across the desert. Her interior had seen everything from children, to awkward first dates, to early 1990s bad haircuts, to broken bones, bleeding, and Jake didn't know what else. She kept confidences as well as any car might. Her wheels had crossed the desert in blizzards, droughts, wind storms, and ice storms. She had always been there for him, for his brothers, for Sam, and for that, she would always be a part of his life.

Jake wasn't sentimental over much, despite what Sam insisted, but he knew that he could only hide from the truth for so long. The Scout was begging him to retire her, to move on, to move forward. On a logical level, he could not see pouring more and more money into her repair, when the truth of the matter was that he did not see her making it to the new year before blowing up and making the decision for him.

The trouble was that he did not know how to bring this up with Sam. She loved the Scout. She cleaned it, and talked to it, and delighted over the quirky body and the old fashioned radio that only picked up AM stations unless the reception was clear and they were pointed precisely towards the towers.

Maybe it was cowardly, Jake thought, pulling into the garage, but he did not anticipate this discussion going all that well. Sam, he knew, was going to act like he'd somehow suggested giving up Cougar or putting Gram in some kind of home, not that she needed one.

The whole issue with the Scout fled his mind when he went inside and found himself at the center of Margaret's attention. She had been reaching up to unlock the door when he'd come in, and he distracted her by scooping her up, "Did you see me coming in?"

"No." Margaret said, resolutely accepting his kiss on her cheek as her due. She reached over his shoulder as Jake began to walk towards the back of the great room, "Out!" She hollered, "Out!"

Though it was enough to split his eardrums, Jake knew what she was saying. "Margaret, it's raining. We can't go out in the rain." Jake, in the effort of distracting her, strode into the kitchen and put the ice cream in the freezer. It didn't work, as she screamed, "No! No food!"

Sam looked up from where she was quickly putting out plates, and Jake knew he was being banished. Jake tried again and set her down in front of her pile of puzzles, "Look, it's your duck puzzle. Why don't you play with that?"

"No!" Margaret screamed, curling up in a ball, her bottom in the air, her legging clad legs curling under her as she screamed, "Out!"

By the time Jake looked away from the tiny, chubby, arms that were pounding the carpet, he saw that the duck puzzle was gone. Quietly, Louisa had grabbed it, and was looking up at him, angry and shocked. "Mine!"

Jake frowned, "Were you playing with it?" Jake had quickly learned twin politics in the Ely household. Toys were shared, unless they actually belonged to one person, such as Mr. Puckle, Margaret's pink stuffed dog, and Turtle, Louisa's stuffed manatee, or were somehow otherwise claimed by one person or another. To offer a toy that was being played with to someone was a breach of the careful and complex system that seemed to exist around toys.

Louisa gripped the puzzle board in one hand, sitting on the floor, the pieces all the way over by her sister, "Is mine!" She was yelling at him like he had lost his mind. Evidently, to her, as she stood up and grabbed various bits of the duck meant to go on the puzzle board, he had done exactly that. "Lou'a! Mine!"

"Out!" Margaret wailed, snot now dripping down her face, "Out!"

Jake fished a tissue out of his jacket pocket, and approached. "No!" She screamed, "No!" Margaret got up, then, and ran, trampling on her sister's puzzle pieces. Not one bit of his work had ever prepared him to anticipate a squirmy toddler who needed her nose wiped.

This shriek of terror prompted her sister to scream, "No!" and bolt after her sister, "Mine!" Jake did not bother to share that Louisa had not actually had any pieces removed from her possession.

Jake rubbed a hand tiredly over his face, screaming echoing around him as Louisa climbed up on the couch, and Margaret was currently doing her best to break ever mirror and window in the house with her pitch. "Louisa." Jake hated how stern his tone had become, "Get down, now. You know better." She tilted her head, but stepped towards the edge of the seat, and plopped down. Jake figured that counted. "Margaret. Stop. Inside voices, please!"

Margaret let out one more shrill shriek and quieted, looking carefully towards the kitchen. Sam was leaning against the narrow doorway. Margaret had already seen her and wiped her runny nose on her mother's jeans. Jake stood there, tissue in hand, "Normal day?"

"I wrote 2000 words during nap time." Sam allowed, "And I'm halfway to convincing Trudy to take on paid barn help."

"I did paperwork." Jake muttered, dropping the shopping bag on the side table as he picked up Louisa, who pressed her head against his shoulder, having called a truce with her bleagured father.

"I'm sorry." Sam apologized, "Would it help if I told you what I wrote?"

Jake knew that she would tell him, so he just nodded. Based on that timeline that now decorated the other spare room, which had basically become an office for Sam, she had made a lot of changes to their life in order to present the Phantom's story in a clear narrative. Jake thought it was funny that no matter what she did to change things, the truth still stood there, not only with that horse of hers, but also with their family.

Sam worried her lip, "I made myself younger."

"Younger?" Jake repeated, as he followed both Sam and Margaret into the tiny kitchen.

"Yeah." Sam affirmed, "I was thinking, like, you know, 14 instead of 16. Because if I were to make myself younger, I can easily avoid one of my major plot problems."

Jake got the iced tea out of the fridge, and set it on the table as Sam pulled a tray out of the oven. The plates were already set out, which was fantastic, because Jake was starving, and their children were not known for their patience. "Which would be?"

"You." Sam said simply, putting a pan of chicken in some kind of italian dressing on the table. The other food was already out, so Jake strapped both the girls into the high chairs as Sam proceeded to cut up tiny bits of food.

"Me?" Jake asked, reaching around Louisa's grabby hands to place her tray upon the tray. "What makes me a plot problem?"

Louisa blinked at him, and Jake repeated, pushing up his eyebrows to make her giggle, "Did you hear that?"

Jake realized that she was fixing her gaze on him, not because of his response to Sam's revelation, but because Sam, in speaking, had passed him her chopped up food.

Jake dispersed said food equally on the trays, and glanced between the twins, "What have I ever done that's made me a problem, huh?"

Sam glared mulishly, "Well, let's see..." The chicken still had to cool, but the girls had beans, and potatoes, and cut up bits of grapes, so they were relatively silent, giving their parents a moment to talk, which was pretty rare.

Jake put half of the chicken on his plate, and as he added the rest of his food to his plate, motioned for Sam to continue, over some conversation between the girls that did not include them.

After taking a long swallow from her tea, she began, "Do you remember that night it was raining something awful, and I was out with the Phantom, and you hung around waiting for me?"

"Not really." Though rain was something rare, he'd played that role a thousand times.

"You were particularly witty that night." Sam added more grapes to the trays, all the while biting into her own meal, "And you said my hair looked like stuck pasta."

"That's not going in your book." Jake said, though he couldn't keep the hint of a question out of his voice. He didn't want to censure her, or for her to censure herself, but adding that that night had been full of electricity, that they'd stood there for a good two minutes just staring at each other, and that he'd seen every swell of her body under her soaked clothing, that he'd...

"Exactly." Sam agreed, arching an eyebrow at him before her gaze quickly shifted, "Watch! She's going to throw that on the floor." The smile in her voice did not do much to scold Margaret.

Jake looked at the tiny toddler, wondering how she could be both so bad and yet so perfect, and said, "It's good, you should eat it."

Still, Siger was patiently waiting between the chairs, ready to snap up food that the twins routinely dropped.

Jake sighed. Still, he could see what she was saying. If they were younger, the external factors surrounding the whole situation would be different. "So basically, by making us younger when things go down with Slocum, you're..."

"Not us." Sam shook her head, "Me."

"That's..." Jake blurted, "No."

"Our relationship is not central to the story!" Sam countered, "And by enlarging the age gap between us with some inconsistency, I can put people off of the idea that we would ever..."

Jake smiled, handing out another baby fork, to make up for the one Louisa had just thrown on the floor, "Good luck with that."

"I am serious!" Sam insisted, "What I'm planning on doing is kind of minimizing how much Max and Luke were involved in my life, shipping the boys off to their respective careers without saying how close we are, by again, enlarging age gaps and being intentionally vague about anything that is not the horses." She speared a potato, "I'm painting you as my sidekick, who is utterly oblivious to my feminine wiles."

"You don't have feminine wiles." Jake deadpanned, not adding that she most certainly hadn't had any at 14, for the love of God, "And what? I'm supposed to be a 17 year old guy hanging out with a 14 year old girl? That's not going to raise any eyebrows, huh, especially since, in this fantasy land you're cooking up, we're basically, like what, distant neighbors?"

"I said in my current draft that we were friends before my accident and that our paths basically diverged." Sam revealed, "It totally will work. You'll see. I did have to make some other changes, though."

Jake did not bring up the fact that they'd visited quite a bit during her few months with her Aunt, and that he'd always had a free ride with one of the older ones. Seth had been pretty easy to bum a ride from, as he'd been down that way in school. It wasn't like his parents had simply forgotten she'd existed either, and left Wyatt holding the bag when he'd most needed support, either.

The idea just didn't gel with his sense of reality. "I'm trying to be supportive, but Sam, you've basically set it up so that I'm hanging around for no reason. Why not just cut me out?"

"You work for Dad, see!" Sam hastened, "And being that in the books, I'm so new back to Nevada, he's appointed you to help me find my feet. Thus, our adventures." After a second she added, "I tried to remove you totally, but it's not fair, and it didn't work. There were gaps I couldn't fill."

"And this book me?" Jake asked, because nowhere in this did he see one ounce of his own behaviors, "He's just apathetic to your goals, and is there because Wyatt said to be?"

"You are somewhat relcaltrant." Sam chewed, "But you're still you. You still love the horses and value a sense of justice. I just can't let on that..."

"You're barely younger, because a couple of teenagers can't be friends, huh, without people thinking they're having sex when somebody sneaks out of the house to visit the barn?" Jake pushed onward, knowing how annoyed Sam had been when Gram had basically assumed they were fooling around, when really, she had only been going out there to see the horses. It had gone on mostly when things with the Phantom had been at its height. Sam had been kept awake by nightmares over Slocum, though he knew better than to repeat that now.

"I think people can be!" Sam hastened, "But, I keep writing, and I keep thinking about those days, and I don't...I don't think we were, then." After a moment, she thought back to that summer, when the nights had seemed endless, and Sam had been restless, and snuck out to the barn every time he'd turned around, "Even though you only showed up once in a while, Gram was right to talk to me about it." Sam's gaze shifted, "Small bites, please."

"I know." There had been nothing going on at the time, but they had sat there and talked, and those talks had set a better foundation for the changes that had come along rapidly.

"And I want the story to be about the Phantom." Sam continued, "I've got to change the game, somehow, because, really, people never focus on the important stuff when I start talking, and we come up."

Jake felt her pain. People tended to be very interested in how the whole thing with the Phantom had provided a backdrop for the foundation of their adult relationship. The truth was that there had been very little time between Slocum heading to jail, and well, their marriage. Jake knew what Sam was saying. She wanted the story to be focused on the horses, and by changing the context, she isolated the events from other events that might be of more interest to people, who by definition, tended towards prying.

Jake gulped his tea, "I understand. Just, one thing, if you want..."

"What?" Sam leaned forward, and chopped up more green beans for Margaret and more potatoes for Louisa, carefully pulling away the skins. Jake did not let on that he saw her pass some chopped up chicken to the dog, "Yummy! Yummy!"

Margaret shrilly called out, "Food!"

After a long moment, Jake spoke, "Can I be here when you tell Quinn that he's been demoted?"

Sam laughed, "Yes." She added, "You have no idea how many people we've got going on, even in these early drafts. I felt like I was reading Tolkien, and I know who everyone is."

Jake stuffed some green beans into his mouth, "That's why Laura made composite characters and edited her life into a clear East to West narrative."

Sam's face turned a little red, and Jake knew that his teasing had hit home. If she was going to turn him into some kind of sidekick, who was old and grumpy, he had a moral obligation to tease her, "Would you stop talking about her like we know her?" She rolled her eyes, and still Jake wondered where she'd picked up that habit, and added, "It's like pretending you know Maud Heart Lovelace, and it's not okay."

* * *

Sam wiggled her toes, and pushed up the sleeves of her shirt. She hadn't realized the date in the rush of getting the girls over to Gram, and in getting the morning chores done, but she had been married for five years, or would be in about ten minutes. It was odd to think about, because in some ways she was so different, and in some ways, she was still much the same.

Sam finished replying to an email about a volunteer group, and picked up her phone. She texted, _We are awful, boring, married people._

Not fifteen minutes later, after she had pulled out a bunch of stuff to scatter around her desk, her phone buzzed on top of a supply catalog. Jake replied, _We actually do have plans. After dinner. There's something we need to talk about. Grace'll keep the girls, she said. _

Sam thought for a second, and typed, _If you want a divorce, you're going to have to figure out a way to do this without becoming like The Parent Trap. Although, I wouldn't mind being Maureen O'Hara. But I sort of think the girls would remember each other, even if their neural pathways aren't fully formed. _

Jake's reply was typical of him, and his ability to extrapolate, _You're such a loser. I don't know where you come up with things._

Sam was not one to be cowed. He thought calling her a loser was an insult. It was lame. It was barely better than calling someone a butthead. _You're the loser, loser. You said we had to talk and never told me what we needed to discuss. _

Sam went back to work. Pippin needed a new summer fly sheet. Sam was trying to find the best deal, and was also trying to figure out which of the 347 catalogs in the office could go in the recycling bin, and which had to be kept.

Sam texted again when Jake didn't reply after a good 12 twelve minutes. _Jake. _

She had no problem doing it again. _Jake? _

And again. Because really, she was a mother. She could text with one hand, sort magazines with the other, plot a novel, think about lunch, and plot her next social justice undertaking all the while not letting someone who sought to avoid her off the hook. _Jake?_

The text she got back was so contrived, it was amazing. How he didn't think she would see through his purposeful use of lowercase letters, she did not know. _i'm working _

_You're avoiding. _Sam fired back.

_Working. _Jake texted, but Sam heard his tone of voice.

Sam hadn't had a childhood reputation for being a pest for no reason. _Jake. _

Finally, he replied. _I can't talk about it over text. _

_Are you sick? _Sam texted. After a second, she added, _Dying? Running away to Mexico to become a full-time Parrothead? Quitting your job to become a househusband, because really, I'd kill you in the first twelve hours. _

_Listen, drama-llama, just keep an open mind. _

Sam grinned, figuring that teasing him was the only way to pay him back a little. She was not a drama llama. _I haven't shaved my legs in two weeks. _

Now that reply was almost instant, Sam thought, as she read his words. _Not really where I was going with this, but okay. _

The minute turned, and Sam texted, _We're old married people. A handful of years, just now. _

Within that same minute, there was a reply. It told Sam everything she needed to know. _43800 hours, Sam._

* * *

Sam considered her was nobody around for miles, the radio was soft, and the Scout was comfortable. Nobody wanted her attention, or her ice cream. "This was a great plan." Sam dipped her spoon in the ice cream carton between them, "100% approval."

Jake's spoon beat hers out for a bit of cookie dough. They'd sat here for a good while, just being, and it had been rather nice. Sam was leaning into Jake, who held the ice cream they were sharing, "Remember that thing I wanted to talk about?"

Sam licked her spoon, and leaned against him, "Hm..."

Jake's hand smoothed up her side, pressing gently, a soothing motion. "I think the Scout's on her last leg, Sam."

She was so pleased with her evening that the solution seemed obvious to her. She tilted her head to look up at Jake, "Whatever's wrong, you can fix it."

"I could, but I don't think it's fair to the Scout." Jake spoke softly, "And I think we need to look at retiring her."

Sam sat up, and turned, pulling her foot up to sit cross legged on the passenger side of the bench seat,"I don't like that."

"I'm not talking about scrapping her." Jake continued, like she was a horse in need of calming, like she was going to bolt. Sam wondered where this was coming from, really. He'd mentioned that starting her was problematic, and that the undercarriage, or whatever, needed a couple grand worth of work, "Just getting something else for daily use. She can't make it another winter."

"But I don't understand why you can't just repair the Scout." Sam ventured, looking right at him, "You've always said you'd never sell her."

"I've always said that because I know selling her would hurt you." Jake admitted. "Look, we can keep her in the garage, we'll use her occasionally, but Sam..." Jake shook his head, "We can't put the kids in this car anymore. She almost didn't start three times today, and it would be about four grand to get her back in shape. That money..."

"Would logically be better spent on a newer truck." Sam blew out a breath, slowly coming to understand the facts, "I agree."

"Yeah?" Jake asked.

"Yeah. Just, this one time, do what you want with a replacement. I can't get involved." Sam considered her words for a moment, "This is going to be really hard. We've got so much history with the Scout."

Jake put his own spoon down on the dashboard, "I know."

"But we should honor that by letting go." Sam pressed forward, "Even though any replacement you find will never have as much personality."

"Thanks, Sam." Jake whispered after a second. Sam was taken aback, not for his care or consideration, but by the loss she heard in his tone. He loved the Scout, too. They'd both learned to drive in this truck, after all. This truck, for Jake, had been a symbol of adulthood, of growing up, of transition. He'd been tossed the keys one day by a pleased looking Quinn, who'd upgraded and left the Scout to his younger brother. Sam had been next on the list, but well, she had her Volvo, and honestly, in her mind, the Scout was Jake's truck. She had never wanted to push him to upgrade.

"I'm not going to cry." Sam promised, knowing that the day he drove up with some other truck she very likely would have a lump in her throat, just as she did right now, "But thank you for knowing I needed time to come to terms with this. You brought me out here just to sit in the Scout and think, didn't you?"

"Nope." Jake disagreed, "We came four miles out to eat ice cream in peace."

Given that they hadn't had a quiet meal in some time, Sam thought that he was probably being serious.

Sam sniffed, looking down at her sock clad toes, wondering when she'd gotten a hole in them. "We're so boring."

"We are." Jake affirmed, "But..."

"But?" Sam prompted, as she curved into his side, put her head on his shoulder, and pulled a bit of lint off of his sleeve.

Jake caught her hand as she got rid of the bit of fluff, and pressed a kiss to her palm. Sam felt his smile against her skin,"But I like it."

Sam's reply was soft, but she knew he heard it. "Me too."

"Sam..." Jake nudged his foot against his own.

Sam was transfixed by the stars that were slowly rising above them. The sky was wide, and was a thing of wonder when he saw the stars reflected in her eyes, "What?"

Jake blinked, trying to hide the smile he felt playing at the corners of his mouth, "You were wrong."

"What?" Sam bristled, slightly, but Jake knew that she was mostly curious.

He simply stated, "We haven't done everything in the Scout."

"Oh my God." Sam's mouth fell open as she snorted, "Are you serious?"

He decided the best course of action was to play it stupid. After all, she was the one with ideas. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't play dumb." Sam paused, her eyebrows going up, then down, "This is our marriage now. I'm devastated."

"Uhm." Jake flustered, not sure where her mind was cooking up, but then he saw the mirth in her eyes as she shifted her weight.

"We're old." Sam pulled the clip out of her hair, which was good thinking, too, because his fingers tended to fumble when his thoughts were not focused, and he didn't want to pull her hair, or more accurately, let her pull her own hair when it got stuck beneath her. The clip went on the dashboard, and Jake followed it, even as she spoke, "Old, old, and jaded. Reduced to cheap thrills."

Cheap, hardly. Thrilling, maybe, depending on what she was thinking about as she tied her hair up on the top of her head, "That ice cream wasn't on sale."

Sam tried to frown, "Today will go down in infamy as the day in which we became old people."

Jake crossed his arms, slow in a way that he knew only served to bug the hell out of Sam, "Interesting word choice."

"Oh, God, even your puns!" Sam moaned, flopping back against the seat like a bad Scarlett O'Hara impersonator, "Next you'll be wearing socks with sandals and saying 'Hi, Out! I'm Daddy!' when you get yelled at by the tiny tyrants that rule the empire. What will become of us?"

Jake wasn't entirely sure, but he did know he had to push the joke one step further, nipping at Sam's ear as he leaned over her, "You are so strange."

Jake's heart thumped when Sam's reply was just a bit distracted, and her hand curled around his collar, as if he'd planned on going anywhere, "I know you are, but what am I?"

**Okay so, I promised I was going to leave this 'verse alone for a time because I LOVED how the end of the last chapter was such a nod to cannon. I thought people were satisfied with that ending, and though I had more to say, I didn't want to drag it out. But then I got a review today that hit just at the right second****, and I decided to post. I just can't let this AU go, even though any editor would tell me I ought to do so. I'm sorry, but I will update this in a few days, as I'm really writing/editing up a storm with it. So Guest, thank you! I hope this update is to your liking. **


	9. Chapter 9

**6100 words, hope you can see them all. FFN has been a meanie for a few days… **

Sam leaned against the heavy slat of the bed frame, sitting on the floor. Late June's summer's heat was rolling in, heavy and oppressive. It made her dizzy, as dizzy as her Amazon home screen had made her moments ago.

This dizzy stuff had hit her like a ton of bricks three days ago and had never quite left.

In half an hour, she had to be over to River Bend, because the girls had their weekly Book Bunch for their age group at the library. A girl from her class in high school brought her son, but Sam found that, now as then, they had little to discuss, even with the common bond of motherhood between them. Gram took her girls, as their bonding time. Sam typically used that time to spend with the horses. Her babies would only be young for a little while, but she missed living her entire life in the barn.

Still, she wouldn't trade them for anything.

Sam pushed to her feet, having sat for long enough to find her mind had stopped spinning, and took a swig from the water glass on the dresser. It was dull, flat, tangy water.

Thankfully, she only had to find the sunscreen before she could get this show on the road. From the bedroom next to hers, she heard the toy box turn over, and a pair of giggles. Knowing well what that might mean, Sam called out, "We're leaving in twenty minutes."

Sam just prayed her children had not undressed themselves in the two minutes she'd left them to play. Sundresses, easy as they were to wear, were also very easy to remove, as evidenced, Sam saw, by the two toddlers in Margaret's bedroom, standing in their diapers and shoes. Well, Sam thought, at least she wouldn't get sunscreen on their cotton dresses.

She shook the can, "Who wants to go first?"

* * *

Jake wanted to punch a wall, just to see what would happen. Maybe pulling the fire alarm would be more effective, he mused. He was so bored, so tired of being treated like he had stepped out of line. He had officially come to terms with the fact that he hated his job. Jake paused, and breathed, as he washed his hands in the bathroom. It wasn't that he hated his job. It was just that he had stagnated. He didn't feel like anything he did mattered, and Turner, someone Jake had assumed was in it for the long haul like him, was transferring to Houston.

The worst part, Jake realized, with a sinking feeling, was that he was jealous. He wasn't big on cities, but he was jealous of Turner's ability to pack his family up, wife, four kids, and move them to a place where the detectives actually helped people. He was so divorced from the community here that he felt like nothing he did was actually helping people.

There was another facet to it, too. It made Jake ache with a jealousy that had nothing to do with helping people. He missed the ability to follow threads, to piece together cases, to feel...

Jake's thoughts broke off as he left the bathroom. He missed feeling busy, vital, needed, a part of something important. He hated staring at the walls, and wished he could go sit at Bob's, until something came his way. He was currently working on a case, wherein a father had pressed charges against his own son, and Jake's hands shook with the way he felt so used. He wasn't helping that family to be safer, be stronger, to live in a better world. He felt like a rubber stamp, a cog.

When Jake got back to his desk, his phone was ringing. He picked it up on the last ring, "Ely."

"You sure made me wait." West decreed, "Don't tell me you made a trip to the water cooler."

Jake could not suppress his curiosity, "What's up, West?"

"The sky." West deadpanned. "But if you must know, I'm calling you to tell you that we're due to have an opening."

Jake supposed he must have made some sound, because West continued. "Roselli is transferring to homicide. Send me your resume."

Jake breathed out, and found words he knew he needed to repeat, "I can't, West, I can't."

"What if I told you, Jacob, that this opening came with the promise of involvement with the K-9 unit, and that you could have your old desk back."

Jake smiled, though it hurt like hell to do it, "That old thing was rickety."

"You can't have it all, boy!" West said, down the line, "You can't be happy out there. It can't meet your expectations."

"I'm happy, West." Jake lied, "I knew what to expect." He was deadly quiet, and he wondered if West knew that he was screaming inside. He blamed West for this, damn them both to hell, and for the man to call and taunt him was horrible. West knew that Jake had not known what to really expect. He'd seen to that, and the old man knew it.

"If that helps you sleep, Jacob." West allowed, "I'll give you a few weeks to come to your senses."

With that, the line went dead, and Jake saw that his fingers had pressed a bloodless groove into his palm.

* * *

Sam strode into the tack room, and dropped the saddle on the table. She brushed a hand across her face, and the hair that was sticky with sweat finally lifted away. She quickly set the saddle to rights, and put it on the rack. Her head was spinning. Ace hadn't wanted to do much in the heat, not that Sam blamed him. It had been nice just to spend time with her lazy cowpony.

Sam felt her vision go grey at the edges for a scant second. The early heat was so stifling. She blew out a breath. Instead of sitting down, she walked resolutely to the house, and proceeded into the wide kitchen run by her grandmother. There, Sam gripped the sink, and breathed out, as the fan spun above her head.

She'd passed out countless times in her life, for one reason or another. She knew she wasn't going to actually pass out now. The moment of lightheadedness was passing with each rotation of the fan blades. Relieved, Sam got a glass of water, and sipped it greedily. Maybe she was getting a headache, and water was known to help with those.

Feeling satiated, she turned to the fridge. Dinner was going to be here tonight. There was work to be done, and Sam knew that any help she could be to Gram would get dinner over with sooner. Sam saw that biscuit items were out on the wooden board, and figured she might as well as get down to mixing the dough. Clearly, they were having some kind of chicken dish.

Sam thought it was a little hot for chicken and hot bread, but what did she know when faced with Gram's cooking wisdom? The art of making biscuits was one that she had been working towards since early childhood, and soon, Sam found the slow process of cutting chilled butter she'd made herself into flour Gram had milled calming.

The dough was perfect under her fingers when it finally came together with just a touch extra of buttermilk from her goats. It was nothing to turn it out on the board, and press down, bringing the dough up to snuff with every deft press of her hands.

Her editing process was going well. Sam could not let go of a few words, could not decide where to cut out the stories of a fictional world that was an interpretation of her reality. She knew her book was a memoir of some kind, heavily fictionalized though it had to be, and she wanted to have it wrapped up tightly before moving forward. Realistically, Sam knew that there was no real rush to get on with things. However, she also knew that she was a perfectionist of the first order in this context, and she knew she would drag it out for another ten drafts. That was saying something, since she was already on her ninth full draft.

Sam also knew that she had something of a personal quandary. Teresa was a literary agent. She had clients all over the country, all over the world. She was in the UK right now, actually. What she had been doing with the _The Lens, _Sam later found out, was a favor to a friend. Sam knew that Teresa liked her draft, the early one, but Sam was mortified that she had allowed a literary agent to read her unfinished work. Unknowingly, she had broken a cardinal rule of the writing world, and her face burned as she mixed the dough, just thinking about it.

Sam did not think she would ever have the guts to ask, but she did occasionally fantasize about Teresa helping her to find a literary agent of her own. Sam had learned that you couldn't just walk in off the street claiming to have written the next _Angela's Ashes _and have someone take you seriously. It was a tough game, and Sam knew that she would need help. She knew that she could probably reach out for advice, and she planned to, within the next few weeks. But she knew that, even if she did ask for help, that she would never ask for more than Teresa would give any stranger. She would not take advantage of their friendship.

First, though, she had to finish up writing her outlines, of which she had several depending on the type of agent she was sending it to, along with a query letter. Presently, she had a list of about 15 agents she was scoping out. She really didn't know if she would be a real fit with most of them, but Jake had told her that she was just nervous.

Writing a query letter, something she had spent the last three mornings before the girls had woken up on, was nothing short of agonizing. She had nearly ripped her hair out trying to be as concise as possible. That said, Sam knew she was committed to getting her book published. She knew she was in it for the long haul, and would make the necessary sacrifices and do what she needed to do to get the Phantom's story into the hands of people who would motivate for change in the world. So, her query letter was printed, and envelopes were addressed. She hadn't sent them out, not yet.

Sam heard Cody scrabbling up the drive after the bus had left him off, and she was not surprised when he burst into the kitchen, breathless, "Sam! Sam, guess what?"

Glad that the wooden work board faced the door, Sam pressed down on the dough, and asked, "What?"

"Harper had a Lunchable for lunch, and she traded the juice box for three Pokemon cards. But I wanted those cards, and so I asked her if we could battle for them." Cody was breathless, "And so Mason said not to, because..." Cody tossed his bag on the bench near the door, "...And I did anyway, and..."

"Breathe, buddy." Sam advised, reaching to her left for the rolling pin, "And did you have fun battling?" Privately, Sam wondered where the kids had all this time to wage Pokemon wars at school, but it was the highlight of Cody's day, and he was not overly concerned with logistics, so she figured such a question would fall on uncaring ears.

"Yeah!" Cody blurted, "'Cepting I lost. It's okay, because Harper was nice about it. Mrs. Maple, in the lunchroom..."

Sam knew that her name was not really Mrs. Maple, but her name was hard to pronounce, and Sam did not correct Cody. The mispronunciation was cute, and at nearly 9, his days of cute were passing him by too quickly, "Said only that I could try again. So I will!" He continued, "I'm going to go outside and say 'Hi' to Strawberry. Did you ride Tempest over, because I want to see her, too!"

Before Sam could reply, or ask about a little thing like homework, Cody was gone.

Sam smiled, when she realized that her little brother had given her advice she'd needed to hear. She would get rejected, her book would be rejected, a thousand times. It was the way of the industry. She would, in that sense, lose sometimes. But like a little boy with Pokemon cards, generally her adversaries would be nice about it, and even if they weren't, she was always going to try again, anyway.

Sam pondered the idea that maybe, just maybe, those cards did do a bit of teaching, as she began to cut rounds from the dough with a biscuit cutter that had been in her family since 1912.

* * *

Jake found, as June slowly moved on, that most times, he could forget that West's offer was still on the table. Life was busy, and sometimes, it was just nice to go to work, and come home. For the first time in his professional life, his focus could be on his home and his family. Balancing both was hard, sometimes, and Jake figured that the ability to clock in, and most times, clock out on time was something he shouldn't take for granted. It certainly hadn't been that way in Vegas.

Jake turned off the county truck. It was gray, unmarked, and unremarkable. Jake didn't typically do these, but the office was busy today, and this was one thing he wasn't about to let slide. Ballard had been called away on some conference call, or Jake knew his boss would have made this drive, and the one he intended to make after, himself.

He made certain that he had the needed legal envelope, and stepped out of the truck. The yard of the little home Jake approached was neatly cared for, though the natural light that surrounded him was blocked by heavy curtains in the window, even in this June heat. Jake ignored the smashed beer bottles littering the yard, and the forlorn looking cat on the stair, and knocked forcefully on the door, "Mr. Smith!" Jake did not bother to lower his voice when a neighbor on the side street looked out her window, "It's the Darton County Sheriff's Office."

The door swung open, revealing a slim, slimy looking man who was hardly fit to be called by that term. Jake swallowed feelings of loathing, of hate, and spoke, "I'm here to deliver a copy of your wife's PFA petition, a copy of the PFA order, and to give you the date of your mandatory court appearance."

The man cursed, spat chew in Jake's general direction, though not at him, which was a pity and a shame, considering that Jake longed to haul him in and put him in a tank with a Hell's Angel. "That lying no-good bitch had anything she got coming to her! Serves her right, running to the pigs because she wasn't woman enough to handle her own business."

Jake continued, ignoring the jibe, "Your court date is June 21st at 2 p.m." Jake also added, "This order prohibits you coming within 500 feet of your wife or your children until a permeant order is placed at your court date. You are barred from calling her, your children, or contacting them on any sort of social media." Determined to do his job, Jake forced himself to ask, for the wife's sake, "Do you understand the terms of this temporary PFA?"

The man slammed the door in Jake's face. Jake shrugged at the cat, which yawned. At least Smith had had the sense to wait to slam the door until he finished speaking. As he walked away, Jake heard the defendant screaming on the phone about his wife. Jake tried to be glad that he wasn't screaming at her, but he found that he could not do it.

Later, he returned to the office, and placed a phone call to the county DV shelter, knowing that talking to the casework attached to Laurie's case was what she wanted. Many residents of the shelter, Jake had found, didn't want to talk to him directly unless it was through the shelter. He was fine with that, and figured if it helped the person to feel safer, he was perfectly happy to leave messages and allow them to call back if they had any questions. It was a modicum of control over their own life.

It was all Jake could offer at this point.

It wasn't enough.

* * *

Sam knew that she had two objectives on her to do list. One was going to take place during nap time, if the girls ever went down to sleep, and the other simply had to be handled. It wasn't like she hadn't done this at least fifty times before. Thankfully, Amazon boxes were the same no matter what they contained, because Max had carried her box inside the house when it had been dropped off while she was at Trudy's with the girls. This wasn't something she felt the need to share. She was simply checking a box off of a list.

Sam felt like she was sneaking around, but she wasn't stupid, and it wasn't like she was a teenager anymore. She had to figure out why she was so lightheaded. Lightheaded, thirsty, Sam frowned, and late. She knew that this would be the first thing they needed to rule out, so Sam fully intended to rule it out. It was simply more cost effective to rule it out this way, rather than going through her insurance for a blood draw she did not need. Tests sold for at home use were so effective that OBs rarely ran lab tests, anymore.

Sam had done this before, so she just guzzled another six ounces of water, and went into the bathroom with her unopened package, all the while relying on a puzzle box that sang songs to entertain the girls for three or four minutes.

It seemed best just to know, so that when Dr. Hull broached the subject, Sam could shut that down. Somehow, some nagging voice in the back of her mind insisted that the subject would be broached. Sam had done this countless times before. She didn't feel the slightest bit of interest or concern as she snapped the lid on the test.

She went and popped in on the girls, and was totally ignored as they played with the musical pieces.

After stirring the pot on the stove, Sam went into the bathroom, and picked up the test.

It was the brand she'd always used and she'd seen enough negatives to know that the digital read-out was not negative. It was not negative.

Sam sat down on the toilet, her feet splaying out in front of her.

She shook the test, even though that did nothing to change the digital results.

Well.

Right.

This was unexpected. Sam considered her emotions. This was unexpected. Other than a blast of surprise, she wasn't sure how she felt. She'd never planned on another child. She'd known, believed, they were done, believed her family to be complete. But, in all honesty, this possibility wasn't something she disliked. Sam had thought she had another cyst, or something. But, clearly, there was a more likely possibility, even though she had been warned not to expect to conceive naturally.

Her girls were almost two. Well, they would be two in October and it was July. Her body had recovered from her pregnancy, even if she still carried a little extra weight that was never going anywhere, and wider hips that would never slim back down. The idea of just becoming pregnant because she had seemed outlandish in comparison to the process of countless shots, pills, and prayers she had long ago accepted as her normal.

How could this be?

Sam thought for a second, rifling through the files of information in her mind. There were women on those boards she used to frequent, women who had said they'd had their second baby shortly after having their first. They'd joked that the expensive fertility treatments would be paying for a second child. Sam had never considered that for herself, for the two of them. She was happy with her two, and even during her pregnancy, she had not had the audacity to ask the Universe for more than she had ever dreamed possible.

So, clearly, this was possible, not probable, but possible. Sam looked down to see that her hands were shaking. Standing, Sam grabbed the box, checked the directions, and satisfied with her knowledge, stuffed the test in the box, and put the box in the trashcan below the Amazon box. She wasn't certain, still, wouldn't be totally certain until she had total proof, but this, this was something she had never known she wanted. And yet, she did want this, wanted it with a certainty that caused her trembling to still and her mind to accept the truth it had been shouting at her for days.

"Mama!" Louisa screamed, "Book! Again, read!" Tiny mary jane clad feet raced across the hallway, and Margaret beat her sister into the bathroom.

"Skippy!" Margaret cried. She was dragging a book, and soon Sam found herself sitting in Jake's chair, two snuggly girls in her lap, reading aloud doing all the silly voices as Skippyjon Jones had a wonderful time, and her cuddly girls settled in for a nap. And though Sam had planned to work during nap time, and check off that final box, she found herself too contented, her heart too full, to move.

* * *

Jake brushed Witch with firm strokes. Hamilton could screw himself. Jake had gotten back to the office today, and Hamilton was screaming and yelling about him stepping in on his cases. Jake had stood his ground, told Hamilton that he was playing like a team member and ensuring that the law was followed and that that woman and her kids were safe. Hamilton hadn't cared. Jake's afternoon became increasingly crappy after that, and so he left work soon.

The stupid ass cared about his case! His case! As though protecting a vulnerable woman was anything to put off, because the lead detective had decided he didn't have enough to do tomorrow. The man wanted the glory, like there was glory to be found in doing his job. There was not enough work to do, Jake thought, if Hamilton was having some kind of grab game over one step of a case that was going to drag onward for months.

Yet again, Jake had been called in front of Ballard for dropping of the PFA. Yet again, the man had sat behind his desk, and sighed. "Jake, I just don't know what's going to become of you, son."

Jake had tried to explain that he was a team player. He had only been doing his job, helping out a coworker, a member of his own team. He had only been doing his job, for the sake of that woman. But in Ballard's office, that hadn't mattered. Jake was spitting mad. In that moment, a cold anger had shot through him, and he'd had half a mind to quit, to put his gun and his badge on the desk, and walk out. Nobody, nobody, trampled on his integrity.

He had almost done it, too. The words had burned his tongue. But he'd stopped himself from speaking. He was the one who worked in town, the one who brought home money no matter how things were on the ranch, the one who carried the insurance for them. He couldn't quit, couldn't walk away from that security, not if it was the kids on the line, the kids who would suffer, no matter what it cost. So Jake had clenched his teeth, said as little as possible, and left.

Margaret and Louisa were with Quinn, now, at the hardware store. Quinn said that the girls were good company, but he knew that Quinn was freeing up the both of them to take the horses out for a while, ride fence. It had felt good to just be with Sam, and just tell her how much work was getting on his last nerve, how Hamilton had been utterly wrong, and how that man had exemplified everything wrong with his profession. It wasn't about cases, Jake knew, it was about helping people. And if he could do that, if he could do that and not be a dipshit like Hamilton, he'd be okay.

Sam threw him off guard, though, when she spoke, from where she was cleaning out Ace's hooves, moving the pick deftly. "Are you open to the idea of another baby?"

Jake didn't know what she meant, or what he really thought about the idea in the hypothetical sense. Sam often liked to throw around theoretical questions. On the ride tonight, she'd asked his opinions on aliens and life on Mars. He looked up as she pushed Ace away gently, a curious expression on her face. He figured this question was much the same.

"Where would we keep it, really?" Jake just wanted that tense look in her eyes to fade. He'd seen it too many times when they'd been trying for the twins, too many times when her body had not done what she'd expected it to do, "Two's perfect, Sam. You know that."

"But..." Sam started to speak, but stopped when Ace butted into her again. She patted his mane, "Yes, I see you, Goober." Sam's gaze landed somewhere on his shoulder, "But if there were to be another baby..."

"Honey..." Jake cut her off, "You've mentioned five or six times in the last month that you're looking forward to when the girls are a bit older. Maybe when they're Cody's age, or something, but..."

"Don't patronize me. And don't call me 'Honey." I have a name." Sam rebuked, "I don't need to be patted on the head. I'm trying to tell you, you stupidhead..."

"Tell me what?" Jake cut her off, dusting Witch's hair off of his jeans and shirt now that she was pretty well groomed, "I don't even know where something like this would come from. Things are great just the way they are."

Jake watched her face fall, watched her lead Ace away, and wondered who he was trying to convince. It wasn't that he wanted another child. He knew she really wasn't considering the idea, either. But he knew he was trying to tell himself that life here, with men like Hamilton, was fine, just the way it was.

Still, Jake dreamed that night about quitting his job.

* * *

Things were not fine the way they were, no matter what Jake kept repeating ad nauseam. Sam tried to understand where Jake was coming from, in this. He hated his job right now. He felt trapped, stagnated. Things were tense at home. Still, it became clear within the next three days that he needed to be told about things that were changing.

Dr. Hull had capably confirmed her pregnancy. She hadn't told Jake. Sam was reeling. She hardly remembered the appointment. She left with a prescription for vitamins, and a follow up appointment in a week or so, because she was once again considered high risk for one reason or another. Sam thought that Hull was being cautious.

Three day later, Sam bit her lip. It was the stupid Scout's fault, and that was all she was going to say about that, though a late February due date was nice. Hopefully, the roads wouldn't be too bad at that point in the year.

Sam was finishing cleaning up her painting mess when Quinn broke into her thoughts, "Sam."

"What?" She asked, looking at the banal landscape that had somehow come to cover her canvas. She rarely had time to paint, anymore, and she hated that the time she did have was being used so dully. Sam wondered if maybe she could rework the painting. It was a gift for Gram's birthday.

"What's going on with Jake?" Quinn plopped down on her chair, and steepled his hands.

"What do you mean?" Sam deflected, keeping her voice light. Jake was in a pretty rough patch right now, but she wasn't about to talk about him behind his back, even to Quinn. Yes, she was worried, but running her mouth to Quinn would hardly help.

"He's unhappy. Broody." Quinn began, "Have you tried talking to him?"

"All he says, Quinn, is that he's hit a work slump." Sam dipped her brush in water, swishing vigorously, "We all do."

"I don't think that's what this is, Sammy." Quinn cast doubt on her words as Sam gathered up her brushes, and put them in the water.

"He'll be okay." Sam promised, she glanced at Quinn as she walked to the sink, but he seemed pensive. Sam ran the water in a short blast, and dipped her brushes carefully in the shallow water., keeping an eye on the sleeping children nearby, careful not to wake them up.

After a long moment, Quinn spoke. "Have you told him about the baby?" Quinn prompted, "Maybe that'll cheer him up."

Sam almost knocked over her entire coffee can of brushes in the sink as she fumbled to turn off the water. She was thankful that her back was to Quinn, so that he could not see her face. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Quinn."

"Please." Quinn snorted. "I'm not stupid."

After a ragged breath, Sam turned around. She tried to glare, but found that Quinn's open gaze prevented her ire from rising. She would confirm nothing. "There's no way for you to know. I'm hardly..."

"So there are degrees of it, now." Quinn teased, sobering after a second. "I just had to use my eyes."

Sam hoped her face was shuttered. She needed information. "And what did your eyes tell you?"

"That you should really take the garbage out in your bathroom more." Quinn was sober, but Sam saw the grin he was fighting.

"Oh. Well." Sam shrugged. So Quinn knew. He'd keep his trap shut. Sam hoped.

"Plus, you know what happened last time?" Quinn gestured vaguely, "Hate to break it to you, but they're a dead giveaway."

Sam yanked down her shirt, which had ridden up a little bit, pulling it flat over her chest, which, contrary to his assertions, were not in any way changed. Sam glanced quickly, satisfied that she was right. Nothing had changed. Yet.

Quinn snorted, and Sam threw a wet brush at him.

Sam laughed uproariously when it hit him in the face.

* * *

The card fell out of the post office box. Jake picked it up. The envelope was green, and was addressed to him. Jake tore it open, happy to get mail that wasn't a bill or a plea for money. It was a card. On the front, it held an overly cartoonish dog, who was holding card. A cat was staring intently at the ribbon on the card, When Jake opened the card, on the inside the dog was being chased by the cat, as the dog tried to keep his beribboned card safe. In a speech bubble, the dog was saying, "You have cat to be kitten me right meow."

The card the dog had been holding had been opened by his cartoonish mouth, so it read, "You're wonderful."

There were a few scribbles on the card that Jake knew to be Sam guiding Margaret and Louisa into writing their names, even if they were little more than squiggles right now. Sam's own bubbly hand, below the crayon squiggles bore testament to that, for she had written their names below their own small signatures.

It brightened Jake's day. Work had been horrible. It had been Sam who went out of her way to try and make it better, and he owed her for that, because the silly notes in his lunchbox and the card in the mail were needed, even if they did prevent him from telling her about West's offer. He folded it carefully back into the envelope as the phone in his pocket rang. "Ely."

"Soooo..." Quinn pulled out his vowel, "How's life?"

"Fine." Jake shut the post office box and moved towards the door. Frankly, he was annoyed at Quinn's false concern. This wasn't Quinn's concerned demeanor. This was Quinn teasing him about something, having something over on him.

Yes, he was in a bad place professionally. Yes, he gritted his teeth every time he walked in the door. Ballard seemed to think that he had overstepped himself, and stepped on Hamilton's toes, especially since the victim had called back and asked to speak to him, and not Hamilton. It had been a tense moment, when he'd picked up the phone.

Just today, he'd been called again into Ballard's office over some paperwork thing, Jake didn't even think it mattered. It was pretext for Ballard to put him in his place again. It was only seemingly getting worse, and everything he tried to do it to change perceptions ended up blowing up in his face.

Jake was out to the car, nearly dropping Sam's _Bust _magazine, when he finally spoke, "What do you want, Quinn?"

"Oh, nothing." Quinn hedged, as Jake started the Volvo, because the Scout was not operational, and he was borrowing Sam's car until he figured things out, "Just wondering what's new?"

"Are we old biddies now or something?" Jake put Quinn on speaker and tossed the phone on the passenger seat, backing out of the spot.

"No, I just thought there might be something new you want to share." Quinn drawled, "I can keep a secret."

Jake had no idea of what Quinn was going on about, but he knew how to play this game. "Jesus. Sam told you."

"She didn't tell me about..." Quinn paused, and Jake knew Quinn had seen through him, somehow. "Ha! You don't know."

"Quinn." Jake warned.

"No no, I'm not telling you anything. I don't want Sam to tear my head off." Quinn ended the call before Jake could reply.

Still, he begrudgingly thanked Quinn as he drove home. After all, he knew now to keep his eyes open.

Jake saw nothing. He watched, but he saw nothing. Sam had that same shadow of worry in her eyes when he talked about his job, the same excited fear when she talked about her book. She cuddled their girls just as tightly, and annoyed him just enough.

The dinner dishes were piled high one day, not too many days later, when he saw Sam shifting from foot to foot. This prompted Jake to continue drying the plate in his hands, and wait. She shifted again. "Sam?"

She began, her hands deep in dishwater, "Did you think about what I said last week?"

"Given how much you talk..." Jake teased, looking quickly over at Margaret, who was running after poor Siger, "Careful, Margaret."

She giggled in response, so Jake figured that was enough. He scanned what he could see of the room beyond the door, and saw Louisa sitting in the toy box, burying herself under a pile of books and blocks. All was well.

"Listen." Sam directed, "I'm being serious. We really need to consider..."

"Sam." Jake felt a headache building up in the corners of his brain. "Tell me."

"I'm not telling you like this." Sam turned around, wiped her hands on her jeans, "I need to go make sure books aren't being torn up for kindling."

"You're running away from the obvious!" Jake blurted, "We're going to have to talk about whatever it is you let Quinn in on!"

Sam called back over her shoulder, "Oh, give it seven or eight months. You'll figure it out."

Jake knocked his head against the cupboard lightly. What was she even talking about? He hoped it wasn't a cat. They did not need another cat. Still, he struck him as odd that Sam was being so careful with the cat lately. Maybe she was trying to prepare Cougar for a new friend. "We are not getting another cat, Sam, do you hear me?"

"Not a cat!" Sam hollered from the other room, "I'm going to let you stew. See what you come up with, huh?"

**Distracted detectives aren't diligent deducers, are they? Actually it would be induction, but…**

**Yeah. It sort of sprang up on us, didn't it? It was rather meant to, though. **


	10. Chapter 10

**6227 words. Please PM if you can't see them all. **

Sam knew where their communication issues were coming from, but that didn't make them any easier to handle. She stirred the oatmeal, sticky and heavy on her nostrils, carefully. "I have an appointment tomorrow."

"Hm." Jake wasn't paying attention. He was clicking away at his computer, doing what, Sam neither knew or cared.

"The sky is falling." Sam tried, dumping food into Siger's bowl. He was too pampered by half. He did not eat it until Sam shook the bowl to disperse it evenly over the surface the bowl. He hadn't moved, not until she set the bowl down. The smell mocked her.

Sam huffed, sucking down the wave of distaste with the exhalation. "Jake. I swear to God."

"Sam." Sam knew that Jake was exasperated with her, but she'd about had it with him. "What?"

"I just told you that I have an appointment tomorrow." Sam felt her hands flying automatically to her hips. She did not force herself to lower them, though she knew she should ask him if he wanted to know where, if he wanted to know that she was going to be sitting in Dr. Hull's, by herself. She wasn't about to nag him, but never before had she felt she needed to work up the guts to tell him something.

"I know you're going to Salt Lake on Wednesday." Jake huffed, "What do you want?"

Sam was a little hurt. She was meeting Teresa in Salt Lake. It was a huge thing. Teresa had texted, asked if she was free. Sam was going to finally talk to her about her next steps, finally ask if she had any advice, which Sam had avoided doing. She had a feeling that this was going to be big for her, and Jake was blowing past it.

"I want you to tell me what you're hiding." Sam came to her point. The whole house was tense. Sam thanked God the girls were sleeping late, because they'd refused to go to bed last night, and had exhausted themselves. She'd been dead on her feet then, but she was glad now, because they desperately needed to have this conversation, heated and contentious though it was.

"I'm just following your lead." Jake deflected, closing his computer lid sharply, fixing her with an accusing stare.

"Shut up." Sam spat. That was low. She had not made a secret of anything. She had been dropping anvil sized hints for days, trying to push him into putting two and two together. She didn't want to be put in this position of having to be the contrite wife. She wasn't contrite. She wasn't, and he had no right to make her feel as though she ought to fetch his slippers and make pot roast before telling him something he might not like.

Jake gripped his computer, and reached for his bag. He'd been up for hours, doing chores, then doing whatever to get ready for work inside so that she could go out and do her own chores. It usually was a good thing, but lately it had had the benefit of allowing them to avoid each other. "Sam."

"What, you don't think my job's been hard at times?" Sam pushed, trying to tell him that she did understand his pain, his frustration. She had wanted to quit at times, too. That whole thing with Linc during her pregnancy was a perfect example, "I get it. I just..."

"Yeah." Jake was utterly dismissive. "You work for Trudy, and you write."

Sam heard the same things in his voice that she sometimes heard in her own mind. She deeply valued her work now, her season of life now, but sometimes, yeah, she wondered what her life would be like if she did more, was more, than just a wife, just a mother, who worked part time to keep her resume from dying a slow and painful death. She heard the same thing in Jake's tone that she read in her college friends posts to her Facebook. It felt like he'd twisted a rusty knife into a slowly scabbing wound.

"And what's that mean?" Sam blurted. She was hurt, and angry. She worked. She worked hard for the horses, in picking up his slack on both ranches, in raising their children.

"Sam." Jake's tone was challenging, like she was one of their daughters who needed cautioning and correction, not his wife, "It just means that..."

"You always said!" Sam hastened, her voice hard, "You always said 'Do what makes you happy, Sam.' and I have! I have, and what's more, I've always told you that you should always do what makes you happy. If you're not..."

"I don't have that luxury!" Jake shouted, "Not when there's a new truck to buy, and insurance premiums to cover, and..." Jake sighed, his voice dropping to a lower volume, and taking on a level of resignation that hurt her heart far more than his bluster ever would have done, had he continued shouting. "And the only reason I don't throw my badge on the table and tell Ballard to kiss my ass is because I know that I don't have the right to do that to this family."

"Well." Sam sank down into the chair across the table, "I think you need to start at the beginning, here."

Sam knew that he was unhappy at work. It wasn't what she'd wished for him, but only he could make the changes that would end it. She would support his goals. She wanted to listen, wanted a clean slate, wanted understanding between them, wanted somehow, to help him make this better.

"What should I say?" Jake began, "That I can't put a foot right? That ever since that night, I've been one rip away from a permanent suspension?" _That night_ he was talking about was that night with Linc Slocum. He had done that for her, and it was clear with his next words that he blamed her, held her accountable in most every way for his current lot in life, "That I feel hemmed in, trapped? That I wake up in the morning, and I want to scream, because I can't figure out where I went so wrong? There's nothing for it. I'm stuck, here."

Sam sucked in air. She forced herself to meet those brown eyes. "I..." There were no words that she could give him, not for this. She wanted to scream that she had never trapped him, never, and that if he felt trapped, it was time he found the door. She'd even hold it. She felt too shocked, too blindsided, to give into the flash of rage. It faded too quickly into pain. She wanted the rage back.

"And I just didn't want to tell you." It was Jake who looked away first, Jake who broke the gaze between them, Jake who broke their connection, "Because I know knowing that is going to change things. And I don't want to hurt you or the girls."

"You're right." Sam breathed as her heart stilled, too agonized to cook up tears and force out the questions rolling in her mind. "It will change things."

Sam shut her eyes, never having really envisioned this moment. He didn't want to hurt their daughters with this. She had to protect them, do what was best for them, and to a lesser extent, for the child she carried. After a second more, her heart began to beat again, and she found her voice, "Because you need to know that you aren't stuck. You aren't."

It hurt to have to be the one to tell him that, but it was the truth. Couldn't he have asked Quinn, Darrell, Deck? It was times like these she did not want to be his friend, and wished they did not have the history of a lifetime between them. He did not need to be here out of duty or obligation. He did not need to put himself through his own version of hell to stay somewhere he did not want to be.

"You're upset." Jake observed.

Sam gripped her cup of water. "I'm trying." Trying not to throw up, trying not to scream, not to cry, not to kill you where you stand for telling me I'm upset, Sam thought.

Jake pressed her after a moment of heavy silence. "Sam."

"Hey." Sam began, over the buzzing in her ears, "We are going to figure this out."

"Yeah." Jake began, looking earnestly over at her, "I mean. Listen. The thing is. West offered me a job in Vegas."

It wasn't earnestness in his eyes, Sam realized. It was hesitation, fear. She put the puzzle pieces together. _I don't want to hurt you. I don't want to hurt the girls. I feel hemmed in. You've trapped me. And I want... _"And you want to take it."

"Yes." Jake allowed, "But I'm not going to uproot the girls, Sam. This is their home."

"It is." Sam asserted, because that was one point on which she was not willing to budge. She would fight him tooth and nail if he so much as breathed one word about taking her girls. They were hers. Hers in a way that told her she'd feel no guilt about crushing him, no matter how much her traitorous heart loved him, if he tried to take those girls upstairs from her arms, "But if you choose to take this job, Jake..."

If he chose to leave, she would let him go. She would not pack his bags, but she would not stand in his way. She would not ask him to stay, would not give him one more reason to stay. He had plenty, plenty, and nothing more would ever change what should already be more than enough, not even the news of the child she carried.

"Sam, it isn't..." Jake seemed guilt ridden. Sam could not look into his eyes. She did not have the strength to keep her voice level and look him in the eyes as he ripped away every bit of the future she'd promised her children, the future she'd promised him, the future she'd promised herself.

Sam thought of that stupid 17 year old girl who had thrown her whole heart on altar and made those vows he seemed to find so chafing, and did the best thing she could for that boy she knew was still somewhere inside the man before her, "I will try my best to support it."

Jake spoke after a long moment, his voice low, gripping his spoon, "This is going to change a lot of things."

"Yeah." Sam faked a nod, which was really her gaze dropping to her knees to chase away the thoughts of those changes.

"But, I can't go on like this." Jake whispered, "It's not fair."

Sam wanted to tell him wasn't fair, coldly tell him that his own personal sense of fairness had no right to do this to anyone. Instead, she admitted the truth. There was no other way, not if his heart and soul were elsewhere. He'd said nothing about making changes together, working through this together. He'd spoken only of himself, and that spoke volumes. "Since that's how you feel, there's no other choice."

"I'm glad you're receptive to it, Sam." Sam's head snapped up. She wasn't receptive to this. She was protecting her daughters, trying to retain her own dignity as he trampled on her. Jake tried to smile. It didn't reach his eyes.

His phone buzzed. He ignored it, and stood, and put his bowl in the sink. As if he by rote, he kissed the top of her head. "What did you want to tell me?"

"Oh, just that Ally thinks Darrell is on the verge of proposing." Sam lied with another truth, "I don't want him to hurt her, make her promises he won't keep."

Sam didn't hear Jake's response before he left for work. The buzzing in her ears consumed her, and she sobbed until she had to dry her tears and go sing _What's the Weather?_ with a smile on her face.

* * *

Jake felt a sense of trepidation crawl up his spine. Sam had been completely silent today. She hadn't sent a single text, sent a single picture. Normally, she sent at least three photos. It made him feel uneasy. He knew that bringing up the idea of going back to CCSO was a big one. For most of the day, he'd thought about the look on her face. Something held him back from checking in today, though. Ballard wanted a meeting. Jake knew he was on the verge of another lecture, possibly a disciplinary note, because he refused to hand over the case. The victim wanted to work with him, and she deserved that choice.

For about three weeks now, Sam had been dancing around something, leading him to some conclusion he did not have enough information to make. It was going to end tonight. He was going to swallow this lump in his throat, and go inside, and talk.

What he found once he stepped into the house surprised him. Sam was sitting on the couch, a mug of coffee sitting in front of her. She was staring at her feet when he walked inside. The house was chillingly quiet. "Where are the girls?"

Sam answered slowly. "They're with Dad and Cody. There was talk of worms."

Jake patted the dog, who seemed to like him enough to be glad he was home. All in all, except for the elephant in the room that he couldn't quite name, the house seemed the same. There were toys loosely clustered around a wooden toy box, and bunch of board books on the coffee table, which they had just gotten back out now that the girls weren't hitting their heads off it at every turn. "So..."

"No." Sam held up her hand, "It's my turn to talk now. You've always said you don't like playing with half a deck. Neither do I. So I need to know. What exactly were you telling me this morning?"

Jake gripped the back of his chair. Cougar butted his hand, so Jake pet the cat, rather than sitting down on the space the cat had vacated. "West offered me a job. I want to take it, but I don't want to uproot the girls."

"You know what I'm asking you, Jake." Sam cut in, her voice rough, as though she had cried recently. He didn't like the idea of her crying over this. He felt like shit about it, too, felt like he was running away from his problems, but he couldn't go on with work like this, and he couldn't take a pay cut to work on the ranch, not when there wasn't a paying space for him. Quinn and Sam had those, and he wasn't about to go hat in hand to his father or Wyatt because he couldn't cut it off the ranch.

"Not really." Jake admitted.

"In all of your talk of-" Sam broke off, "You hurt me when you said you feel hemmed in and trapped. I don't know where you went wrong, Jake, but we do need to talk about what you're planning to do to change it."

"I don't know what we're going to do, Sam. That's why I brought it up." He really did not need to hear that he was failing her, too. That hurt. "I'm sorry if the whole thing hurts you."

"You're sorry telling me you want to leave and go work with West is hurtful? You're sorry that telling me that waking up next to me makes you want to scream?" Sam gripped her mug, which Jake saw was tea when it sloshed out on to the table when she sat it down, "Because really, I'm not sure on what planet that's supposed to make me feel good about myself or the state of my marriage."

"How about on the planet, Sam-" Jake began, but then he stopped. Swallowing, he realized that he had said those things, in a way that would make it seem as though he meant them towards her, and not his job. "You thought I was talking about you?"

"You blame me for this." Sam pronounced, "For the fact that you're in a shitty position at work, for the feeling that you ought to stay, for the reasons you want to just leave and go."

"I don't..." Jake tried to explain, but then Sam's face crumbled, and her eyes filled with tears.

Jake felt his heart crawl to this stomach when those tears spilled over, and her voice broke, "Then why do you want to leave me?"

"Leave you? Sam, you don't think..."

"I did! I do, in fact! And I blame you for that. Asshole." Sam blurted, yanking her shirt up to dry her eyes. "And you know, your whole, 'let's be honest' bit this morning has made it really hard for me to tell you things you need to know."

"What could be bigger than me wanting to quit my job?" Jake wondered, trying to set her ease, "Anything else is..."

"You can quit your job and find a new one." Sam sniffed, "You don't just give back a baby." And then Sam was talking, and Jake only caught bits of it, because he was thinking.

It made a lot of sense, from the sticky tea on the table to her splotchy complexion, to the imperceptible softness in her body he'd noticed but passed off as a timely bout of good fortune. He thought back to the heavy hints about dates she'd been dropping, the random, "How would you feel about another baby?" questions she'd been pressing, and the time a few days back he'd come home to find her asleep in his chair, the girls snoring softly next to her.

"And you just don't listen...head up your...I care, I do, and I'm not trying to trivialize your issues...don't know if I'm nauseated because of this pregnancy or because you hurt my feelings...job issues are easily fixed, you know..." After another few seconds, Sam jolted to her feet, and that shook from his thoughts and focused his attention fully on the bits he'd heard of what she'd been saying. "Would you even listen?"

Jake felt his heart speed up, when things clicked together. "You've been trying to tell me for days."

"Try weeks." Sam corrected, "I'm not sorry."

"Not sorry you didn't tell me the second you knew, or not sorry in, in general?" Jake wasn't really sure what she meant, and to tell the truth, he wished she had told him. Why wouldn't she? This was something, clearly, he should have been told.

"At first I...I I didn't expect this, either." Sam allowed, "But then things got bad, and I wasn't going to add to the mess of it all. And then this morning I woke up, and threw up, so then I figured I had to tell you, even with all this crap between us, and then you ran your mouth."

Jake bit his cheek, to keep his expression from shifting, trying to keep from betraying the fact that he was startled. Yes, he was hiding his emotions from her, and it was a bit hypocritical, given that he was annoyed she hadn't felt she could say anything she needed to say to him. But she had called this pregnancy, this baby, a mess.

He'd heard her say it, and he did not know what to make of it, what it might mean. He did not want to think about it.

"You don't want this...?" Jake did not let himself complete the sentence. He did not quite know how to approach this, except he knew that he couldn't let on that her word choice had hurt him. That couldn't be his role, not now, especially not if his fears were correct. Were that the case, his only obligation was to somehow try to understand her viewpoint, and be supportive in any way he could.

"Jake." Sam blurted, "If I didn't want this baby..." Sam trailed off, and Jake heard what she did not say. She had never made a secret of it, never, that she wanted to be a mother, nor that she saw her role as a mother as sacred, because she chose it, fully, knowing that she had other options in life, but felt that none compared, for her. She loved him, but nothing came ahead of the girls when they needed her to be there for them, not even him, and he supposed now that this baby was included in that, from the second she had known.

"I guess we're going to have to keep the Scout." Jake felt relief well within him, teasing her. "Posterity."

Sam blushed to her hairline. "Shut up."

"You planned to divorce me! I think I have some room..." Jake blustered, knowing that she had just confirmed what he'd been asking about their last anniversary. Poor kid was going to grow up thinking she had been made out of obligation, duty sex based on the date, a grudging homage to the date of their marriage. He'd spare her the truth.

"It was your idea." Sam countered, hands on her hips again. He didn't know if she meant her delusional leap to divorce court, or that one time need had won out over good sense.

"I say 'Brat, I think we should go to Vegas...' and you hear, 'Sam, the world is ending.'" He didn't know how else to put it.

That had to be said. Why did she ever think, ever, for one second, that where she went, he would not follow? Why had she ever begun to feel that there was any cause to consider the end of their marriage? He couldn't even bring himself to think the word. More importantly, when, at what moment, had those doubts creeped into her mind?

There was no teasing in Sam's voice. He heard the truth in the words she forced out. He knew it was a lie, and he forgave it, mostly because the idea of being apart was also the apocalypse in his own mind. "I did not."

"If you really thought I was telling you I planned to leave," and the word hurt even coming out of his mouth, because he knew that the very idea of it would have destroyed the foundation of his universe, "Then why did you let me go this morning?"

Sam bit her lip, chewed it. She thought for a long second, and then, she spoke so solemnly that it gave Jake pause, deep in his soul. "Because if we don't both keep choosing this, it's no good. And I told you once that I'd rather you be around once and a while, and happy, then with us all of the time, and miserable, and I meant it."

Jake remembered that day. She had been pregnant, then, too. They'd fought, something awful, because he had forgotten to come home. Her hair had been frizzy, and she'd made some kind of chicken. They were going to figure out names that night, and he hadn't come home because of work.

Jake knew that he couldn't let that happen again. Today had been awful, and he needed to end it, needed to be the one, as Sam had been then, to close the gap. But he still knew that he should give her reasons, pressing reasons, to choose him, even if she was mad, even if she was hurt.

Jake nodded, "So, uh. You can't divorce me." If she left him, it would be as though she'd ripped out his heart and snapped his brain stem and broken every bone in his body. The very thought made his pulse race.

Though truthfully, he didn't know if the uptick in his pulse had to do with the softening mirth in her eyes.

Sam opened her mouth as Jake stepped closer, around the coffee table, "Theoretically, I..."

"Sam." Jake pushed her wild hair back over her shoulder. Sam leaned into him, "You can't, because I'm going to leave the department, and I need your book royalties to live on, keep me stocked up on peanut butter and fishy crackers."

"Again." Sam crinkled her nose, and Jake saw her calm acceptance, heard it in her teasing, and knew that things would be okay, "Shut up."

"Also, you can't leave me, because in about six weeks, if memory serves, you're going to need me a lot."

"I suppose you'll suffer through it." Sam was trying not to laugh at his absurdity, "But you should know it's really closer to about four."

Jake's lips rested against the top of Sam's head, and for the first time in days, he felt contentment well up in his soul as she wrapped her arms about him.

* * *

Sam found her way through Salt Lake pretty easily. She'd been here once or twice over the years, because it was a pretty large city not that far away. Adam liked Salt Lake for the sports and the outdoorsy vibe. As a teen, Seth had mocked tourists under his breath when they'd bought items that said, Salt Lake UT, by acronym. He'd said it was obvious, cheaply done, and lacked insight.

Sam was alone in Salt Lake for the first time today, and she was once again sitting in a cafe, waiting for Teresa. Sam thought back to that first meeting, nearly what, three years ago, now was it? She had been so different then. Sam considered her agenda, after being led to a booth.

The hostess left her with a menu, and Sam looked at it, unseeing. She was going to ask Teresa for her advice, she was going to work up the nerve to be perfectly honest, was going to take steps she needed to take. It really was the thing she wanted, not only for herself, but because as Jake was going to be in a state of flux, she needed a professional outlet that she could carry with her anywhere, no matter her circumstances.

Truth be told, she did not want to move, but-

"Sam!" Teresa's voice broke into her thoughts, as she slid elegantly into the booth, "Am I late or were you early?"

Sam drew her feet back so that Teresa would have space to settle. "I got in a few minutes ago. There was less traffic than I'd assumed." Sam did not want to say that she had left home too early out of nerves.

Teresa pulled a purple legal pad out of her bag, a pen, and ream of paper that Sam did not get a good look at, along with a folder. "I suppose we should order, but let's talk shop first."

"Um." Sam agreed, "Okay." She wasn't sure what Teresa had to say, but she knew that any chance to bring up her concerns.

"I would like to sign you as a client. I know this is a horrible violation of our friendship, and you are my friend, but I think we could work well together, and I'd like to see that you do your best at getting a good publishing contract." Teresa explained, "And..."

"I..." Sam broke in, "Don't you normally, like, need a query letter? Or have some sort of hoops? I was going to ask you to help me find somebody, but I couldn't take advantage..."

"Sam." Teresa, "If you want to say no, say no. I'm asking as a benefit to myself as well. Do you know how hard it is to find a client who writes well and whom I like? Just, if you're considering my offer..."

Sam made her mind quickly. It went without saying. "I'll take it."

"No." Teresa shook her head, "You'll listen first. Then you'll say okay or not. I think there is merit to this, but I think you're going to need to shift genres."

Sam felt dread building up in her stomach. "I can't write a romance."

"You've made that clear." Teresa smiled, "No, what I'm saying is this. The narrative is primarily a coming of age narrative, correct? And who reads coming of age narratives? Not people who have already done it, by and large. So your target audience isn't adults, but young people, who typically read about people just a few years older than they are."

"People whose behaviors and ideas about agriculture, wild horses, and ethics are still being formed." Sam thought aloud, "But what would that mean? I mean, you just don't wake up and say 'I'll write a teen's book today!' Do you?"

"Certainly not." Teresa tried to hide the widening of her own grin, "But you could break down this megabeast of a novel..." Here she tapped the ream of paper, "...which is too long to be even considered, even as fictional autobiography, and we could pitch it as a series, three or four books for YA."

"I'd not thought of that." Sam said, "But I do see your point. It is long."

"And if you do end up going YA, which I think you should, the length will be a huge barrier." Teresa spoke, and a few pieces fell into place in Sam's mind as she visualized with this might look like, in actuality.

After a scant second, she found the words she needed, "So, I look for the stories within the story, and parcel them out, while maintaining a overall narrative arc."

"Bingo." Teresa tapped her legal pad with the pen she grabbed, "Then I, your trusty literary agent, helps you to find a publishing house, which will generally mean a good editor, among other things. And to make a really long story short, that's how your draft becomes a book that horse mad young ladies can buy on Amazon."

"Really long." Sam grinned, knowing that Teresa was trying to set her at ease and simplify the process. "So. I think you have a new client."

Sam grinned. She had an actual editor. She had written at least twenty query letters, but through happenstance and sheer dumb luck, she had saved herself stamps, and had the chance to see this through with someone she knew and trusted. She only hoped their friendship survived.

Reality intruded into her suppressed elation, "But Seth doesn't like anybody to sign anything with him having a look at it first."

"I somehow got that impression." Teresa had already pushed the folder across the table. She'd come prepared for the results she'd hoped for, then.

"From what?" Sam asked, distracted as she peeked into the paperwork.

"You did have four or five huge scenes wherein some representation of him foils criminals with his legalese. I'd be ashamed if his real life counterpart didn't ask for a peek at a very standard contract."

"Oh." Sam shut the folder, and found Teresa looking archly back at her as the waitress approached, "Right."

* * *

"Mama!" The terror in the leggings and summer dress hollered, "Mama do!"

Margaret agreed, ripping the book from his hands, and dropping it on the pile that had grown on the floor in the last ten minutes. At least he'd cleaned up the diapers, or those piles of cloth would be buried under books.

Jake stared, "Mama is in Salt Lake, today." Jake found himself in the middle of the pile of books they'd pulled out, with neither of them able to agree on a book. "We all talked about it. I'm sorry I don't do the voices properly, but..."

Jake almost laughed at the absurdity of their mulish gazes. He never, not once in his life, thought he would be apologizing because he couldn't do voices to the liking of two people who could barely string a sentence together. They had high standards, and Jake did not mind complying. It was his lot in life, and he did not want to change it, no matter what Sam cooked up in her hormonal state.

He remembered not to tell her that she was leaping to conclusions because of the pregnancy hormones. Jake let out a shuddering breath. He hadn't quite settled into the changes the next few months would bring, the person that would arrive in the early Spring, but Jake knew he wanted to meet them, wanted their world to change again, as it had twice before.

Jake realized that he was not going to win this staring contest he'd inadvertently started. This was an old argument on the part of the twins. He was not suited to their preferred rendition of the _Three Little Pigs_. He did not do the voices properly and that was the only book they wanted, despite redirection on his part on several occasions in the last ten minutes. The girls shared a look, and Louisa broached the next item on their agenda, "Outside."

It was a clear concession to his lack of reading ability. Jake tried not to laugh, again, as he realized they were likely cutting their poor, pitiable old man some slack. "Go outside." Margaret agreed, scrabbling to her feet on a pile of books, "Get shoes."

"Sun'sreen." Louisa's happy voice jerked Jake into action. It took him a second because he realized that, somehow, he'd just been played. He wasn't being cut slack, he was being driven towards their choice of action. Jake wondered, somehow, if they'd planned it.

"We were just outside." Jake countered, "Don't you think it'd be nice to rest? Cougar wants to rest."

"Cat." Louisa declared.

Margaret finished the statement, "Sleep."

"Right." Jake began, "Well. You can pretend to be a cat." He reached for a book they'd previously rejected, "And we can read _Max the Brave_."

As their faces considered his offer, Jake added, "But first, we have to put away six books each. I'll count."

He used the knowledge that they liked to count things to inch them back towards nap time. They might have almost gotten him, tricked him, but almost. They were only nearly two, after all, and he was supposedly a trained detective. "One..." He picked up a heavy tome of see and finds, and Margaret followed suit. Louisa picked up two smaller books. "Two..."

Jake considered their enthusiasm a parenting win. He'd get the living room cleaned up, and put them down for a nap, meaning that he would have plenty of time to set up that finger painting thing Sam saw on Pinterest. It would at least prevent them both from getting covered in goat hair and mud and dirt for the second time today. He was not planning on giving another bath within the same six hour timeframe.

* * *

"Away to me." Sam called out, and Blaise rounded up a few stray cattle. Most were far out for the summer after the drive, but there were a few they kept down, for health reasons, or they were calving out of season, or they were held back for some other reason, which was at present unknown to her.

Sam watched Tempest's ear twitch slightly as she guided the reins. Things were going well. She was almost done here, and the cattle would be moved to a new pasture, and the one they'd left behind would be left to rest.

"Steady." Sam fell in behind the cattle as they passed her. In the far distance of the range, she saw Pepper on horseback.

Sam exhaled Tempest acted with little direction, and kept a good distance back from the cattle, hardly needing to support Blaise. Blaise was well trained, knew these cattle better than some herdsman might, and Sam let them do their work together with minimal input from her and little fuss. She would have to go and get the gate, but that would come in time.

For now, she felt a sense of contentment wash over her as she stared at her world. It was hers, and she was going to finally share it with the universe.

**Happy New Year! I've a bit of an injury, common in equestrians, so that's what delayed this update. See you soon! In earlier drafts, Sam and Jake had a horrible, horrible, emotionally draining fight and I just couldn't do it. I lack fortitude. **


	11. Chapter 11

**A double update for your wait. Hold onto your hats! **

Jake made his decision. He knew what he was giving up. He made the decision. He was going to put in his notice. He'd fumbled through the letter, and asked Sam to rewrite it.

He'd signed it and sealed, and put it in the bedside table.

Signed, sealed, but not yet delivered.

Things just weren't working.

He had to do something different.

He couldn't go on being a decent father, a decent husband, a decent person, if the work that he did trampled on his soul. He was so tired of seeing personality conflicts get in the way of actually serving the community, and that was saying something, given that he had spent years working under the biggest source of drama in Nevada. He was tired of being so worn after leaving work that he had to force himself to go back.

And yet, the choice he knew he had all but made weighed heavily on him. The thought stuck in his mind that he would be leaving. It tore into him as he did normal things, day by day. He stewed over it.

The idea that he would be walking away from simple moments like these tore at him. The very sight of the barn, the company of his horses, was a kick in the gut. He felt like he had failed at the department and failed at his life goals. He had only ever wanted to do what he was doing, and the realization that he couldn't make it work stole so much of who he thought he'd always wanted to be away from him.

He did not want to go back to the city, not really, but he needed a job. He had one option to continue to provide for his girls, and he had to take it. It wasn't like he had gone to academy as a second career, and had a nice trade to fall back upon. He almost wished that he had not been so single-minded. He had never thought about doing or being anything than what he was, and now that it wasn't working out, he'd painted himself into a corner.

He wasn't going to turn his part time thing with Darrell into a full time gig, not with Darrell working all the time. The cars were fun, but they weren't a feasible business model. It was his version of going drinking with his buddy, and it would never be much more for them.

At the core, it was too much of a risk considering he was the off-ranch spouse. For a lot of people, it would be the wife within the marriage who would bring in the insurance, the steady pay, the security that came with working off the ranch, but in their family, that was him.

Normally, that suited him just fine. Sam was a better rancher than he was, and she would one day be at the helm of River Bend. She needed the practice, the ongoing involvement, in a way he did not, given that Quinn was full-time on the ranch with his work at the firehouse on the side. Quinn was always going to be with him. Well, that was, until he left. Jake found that he did not want to leave him, either. Quinn was one of the few people in the world who understood him without question.

But he had an obligation to his wife, and to his children. He hated that he was asking Sam to leave her work on the ranches, her work with Trudy. He hated it, and hated himself for it. This was her home and he had no right to ask her to leave it. He had no right to ask her to walk away from what mattered to her just so that he could continue on with his own work, not after failing so badly at fitting in and making a job at Darton county work. They'd talked it over a hundred times, and she too, understood that he couldn't be jobless. She was fine with going, she said, but Jake knew it wasn't right. He just couldn't see another way, other than West's offer. He prayed, and prayed, and nothing came forward.

Every bit of his life, even the joy, seemed so tainted by his failures. It wasn't that he couldn't do his job. He had one of the highest closure rates in the county, and he liked help the people of the county. He didn't mind paperwork, not anymore. It came down to so many things that he couldn't put his finger upon.

Darrell dropped the box with a thunk. They were cleaning out a garage space because the new truck was set to be ready within the next few days. The dealer wanted it to be detailed, and such. It had taken some time for the money to clear from their bank account, as well. "I don't understand why you just don't use the Scout's spot."

Jake shoved another box into the shelf built along the wall. "It'll rust if we keep it outside."

"You said you were selling it." Darrell reminded him, "What made you..." He paused, "Oh, Sam decided otherwise."

"I can make choices on my own." Jake looked over at the boxes that they'd been moving and stacking, mostly because the garage had fallen out of order since Seth's wedding. The new truck needed a home, and Jake had to see that it had one. They mostly parked outside, but the idea of dropping money he was terrified to turn over for a new truck, only to let chickens roost in the bed, made him sweat. Of course, Quinn was working, the loser, meaning that he couldn't do his part to clean out this junk.

Darrell shoved a box of Mom's Christmas decorations out of the way. "The lady doth protest too much."

Jake fixed him with a look. He'd turned green when the jeweler had handed over the blue box in his pocket this afternoon. Jake was already doing best man duties before he even knew if there would be a wedding."Keep giving me shit and I won't tell you what Sam told me."

"About what?" Darrell's head popped up.

Jake shoved another box into the shelving. "Not saying."

"Jake." Darrell sat down on top of a Rubbermaid bin.

Jake took pity on his old friend. This whole thing was stressful enough for him. It wasn't easy for him to put his heart out there. "Ally knows."

"She can't know." Darrell shook his head, and Jake was reminded of all the times they cut school and were absolutely certain no one knew, "I've been really, really careful about these plans."

"I'm not saying she knows the details. I'm just saying she knows what you're planning to ask."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?" The concern on Darrell's face was palpable.

"No." Jake allowed, "But judging from the phone conversation I overheard one end of, I'd guess she's pretty much made up her mind."

"What makes you say that?" Darrell looked like he was ready to jump out of his skin.

Jake didn't think he was gossiping, more like sharing observations. He'd admitted nothing other than observations, things he'd heard Sam say through the phone. He'd been in the room, playing with the girls, while Sam had talked on the phone and folded laundry. "I overheard Sam saying she'd be happy to be her matron of honor. Theoretically."

"Theoretically." Darrell repeated, letting the word settle over him.

Jake looked around the garage bay. They had another half hour of work to do. "Right, so can we stop all this and get done?"

Darrell pushed to his feet. "Where do you want this bin?" He looked at the masking tape label on the lid, "It says 'Maternity Clothes.'"

"Better keep those out." Jake spoke knowing that Sam was losing the fight against her buttons quickly. She had already given up button down shirts."They'll be needed."

Darrell blanched. "Hey now. I get enough of that from Mama. Can you let me get married before you start planning my family and giving me your hand-me downs?"

"I wasn't." Jake internally kicked himself for the slip, and hoped that Darrell wouldn't pick up on what he'd said. He had to play this off. It was just too tentative to really run his mouth.

Darrell was silent for a second. "Interesting how you didn't say who was going to need them. You would have, if you knew about somebody who was far enough along to make things known. So I'm going to venture a guess..."

Jake put an idea out there, hoping that Darrell would cling to that. He had two other siblings who were married, and God only knew if any of the others would end up a baby before or after they settled down, "Maybe it's a hunch."

"You want me to believe it is a hunch." Darrell was too quick. Jake did not let himself look away. Looking away would mean that he'd folded. He could not fold. "So it isn't."

"You're going to think what you want to think." Jake decided being nonchalant was the best way to deal with the corner he had backed himself into, with his words. Sam would kill him if Darrell knew before their entire family did, or knew before most of the risk had passed, "I can't stop you."

"Oh, now you're getting defensive." Darrell grinned. "How nice."

"Shut up." Jake grumbled, picking up the tote.

He began to walk towards the door. He knew he was scared, and he didn't want Darrell to see a flicker of that raw emotion on his face. The whole idea, the whole reality, of Sam's pregnancy terrified him. Darrell couldn't know that, not now.

He wasn't unhappy, but he was terrified. Sam's body, her heart, had been through hell and back. Jake remembered sticking the needles in her body, watching as her side bruised completely. He remembered watching and wincing as she'd moved as though she'd had the shit kicked out of her. Her fundamental chemistry had been a mad scientist's workshop as she'd pumped herself full of drugs. He'd read somewhere that it took on average two years for a woman's body to recover from a pregnancy, and they were weeks and weeks away from the twin's second birthday.

Jake was scared. This pregnancy was a risk. It was a huge risk, and she wasn't just risking herself. They, in choosing to continue this pregnancy, were risking their children's mother. Jake couldn't bring himself to make light of the risks involved, not this time. He had pushed them to the back of his mind, time and time again, during her first pregnancy. He couldn't figure out how to do that now. He remembered too vividly how fragile she'd been after the twins were born, how for weeks, she'd curled into him, feeling slight and fundamentally unlike herself.

Darrell spoke, "So, hey, with the new baby coming, are you going to have time for a new car?"

Jake threw him the bird over his shoulder, nearly dropping the light bin. So much for a moment of bonding between him and Darrell. At least they'd mostly stopped giving each other bloody noses.

Darrell's laughter followed him as he decided to walk the bin into the house and give Darrell time to get distracted by his own impending life changes. For himself, Jake needed a few moments to consider his own.

* * *

Sam hardly had time to sit right now. Days were passing quickly, as they did every summer. There was no time to celebrate the Fourth on the actual day, so Gram was hosting a dinner for everybody some time after. It was August, so it was still summer. It counted as much as making time for holidays could on a busy, working ranch. Sam was assigned to tidying an already spotless living room, mostly to get out of the kitchen. Naturally, she had two very interested helpers.

Sam fluffed the pillows on the warm chair, "How many pillows are there on this chair?"

"'even!" Margaret cried. Margaret was the more vocal of her children, and often tried, either wittingly or unwittingly, to speak over Louisa, who was no less intelligent, but rather slower to make her thoughts known.

"What do you think, Louisa?" Sam pressed.

"Six!" Louisa cried, garbling the word, utterly confident in her counting. She had better control over her words, over her diction, than her sister did.

Sam put her finger on the pillow, "One." She moved over to the matching pillow, "Two."

Sam held up two fingers, "Two pillows." She continued on, resting the urge to say _Ah Ah Ah._ "Can you see other groups of two?"

Sam pointed out, and touched, eyes, ears, eyebrows, hands, and suchlike over the next few minutes. Naturally, the lesson on the number two evolved into kisses and cuddles. Sam put a halt to silliness before the girls began to run and scream, but it was no good, really, because Cody came in, and his biggest fans ran screaming after him.

Sam figured they were occupied and would come find her if they needed her. Cody minded the girls very seriously, unless they messed with his stuff. Sam wandered into the kitchen. Gram was cooking up a storm, along with Max. "What can I do to help?"

"Oh, you tided the living room already?" Gram looked over at her from where she was stirring her slow cooker, a cheese dip inside. "I think we need some more meatballs rolled. The meat is in the fridge."

Sam knew she was being given grunt work, but got a bowl and a pan all the same. She popped her head into the den, and observed three children playing. No one was maimed, crying, furious, or dead, so she did not step in and bust up the fun. Thus, she found herself sitting at the big wooden table, rolling meatballs.

The meat, chilled though it was, stuck to her fingers. Sam did not dare breathe in through her nose as she quickly worked on the formation of the meatballs. She changed diapers, cleaned up vomit, and ground in food, pumped gas, shoveled excrement and birthed animals. She could handle a few dozen meatballs without losing her breakfast. The meal today would go on for ages, so these ones that were being cooked now would do just as well as the ones that were closer to being done.

Sam just kept on with her work, until she realized that Max and Gram were expecting her to reply. "Oh, ugh, what?"

Max pulled down a serving platter. "I said I was glad that Seth was coming with Julia today. It'll be nice to see them for a few days."

Sam passed a meatball from hand to hand, "So you can spoil poor Maxen until he never wants to leave."

"That's the whole idea of being a grandmother, Sammy. God willing, you'll see." Max replied, though Sam knew she was well and truly half joking.

"Not for a few decades, I should think, though." Gram corrected, moving quickly through her task, "She has too much to learn, yet, to see our wisdom."

"Thank you." Sam declared, "I think." She was not planning to encourage her girls to marry much before the age of thirty-five, so that was true, but the idea that was somehow being called stupid stuck in her mind.

"Wouldn't it be nice if somebody decided to have a baby?" Max said, her offhanded tone becoming focused, "Don't you think it would be nice for the twins to have somebody younger to play with as they grow up?"

Gram's gaze was speculative, and Sam tried not to pay it too much mind when Gram flat out lied. "I hadn't considered that."

"Uh huh." Sam said, not believing either of them for a second. Sam hoped they could not tell that her jeans were maternity jeans. She'd learned her lesson, and capitulated early. It was common to show earlier in subsequent pregnancies, though Sam knew she had made the choice mainly out of comfort. Her maternity jeans were her everyday jeans, simply modified with a bit of work on her sewing machine. So, nobody could really tell, and they were quite comfortable. Sadly, she'd given away the rest of her maternity clothing. She didn't have the guts to ask for it back, not when she saw that Julia was still using it.

"They're at a good age for it." Gram allowed, "I always did regret, after a fashion, that your father was an only child. Of course, Papa couldn't..."

"Couldn't we not talk about what Papa couldn't, please?" Sam's stomach was rolling, and to tell the truth, there were things that, even as an adult, she did not need or want or care to know. "I'm about ready to..."

"Land sakes, Samantha." Gram chided with a click of her tongue against the roof of her mouth, "You've been hanging out with those boys too much. I was only going to say that Papa couldn't see pressing for more that what we had. He was always that way."

"Of course, what's three compared to two?" Max hinted, "Once you start hitting four and five, you just add another plate to the table and nobody's the wiser."

Sam blurted, "Who said anything about four?"

"Who said anything about three?" Max's tone was easy, gentle. Sam suddenly knew very well that this had been a set up from the very start. Sam had walked into this one.

Sam blew out a breath, opened her mouth, closed it, and then spoke, "You're both mean, and I hate you."

"Now, Sammy." Gram chided around the laughter in her voice, "That's hurtful."

"She doesn't mean it, Grace. It's just the hormones." Max looked far, far, too proud of herself. "My pregnancy with Nate was bad like that, too."

"Who told you?" Sam wanted to know, keeping her voice low. "If Quinn ran his stupid mouth, I'll eviscerate him." Talking about a pregnancy so openly went against Sam's sense of the world, her sense of what was right and good. She wasn't going to tempt fate with this baby. Her last pregnancy had been so open, so public, because of how much of a protracted struggle her journey had been to actually become pregnant. But this baby, this baby was hers and Jake's alone. She longed, once again, for the security of keeping this baby safe as she once had with the twins, in the only way she could at the moment.

"Quinn?" Max shook her head, "Nobody told us." She tilted a wrist as she whisked something in a bowl, "Well, you did."

"Just now." Gram grinned, "How would Quinn know?"

"He guessed." Sam decided, not bothering to tell them that he'd used her bathroom, was more observant than Jake, and made fun of her boobs. Her breasts were not the size of her head, no matter what he insinuated.

Sam finished the meatball in her hand as Max asked, "When are you due, then? How have you been feeling? You didn't say a single word!"

Sam really didn't know what to say. She felt like warmed over crap, even at fourteen weeks into it. She didn't want to express that, though. She only wanted her privacy. She did not want to give anyone, least of all Jake, cause to worry. He hadn't breathed a word, but she knew he was terrified. Her pregnancy with the twins had traumatized him. Well, the pregnancy, and the rocky horrible, fraught road they had walked to get there. He'd been so shaken, even after their delivery.

This was not the same experience, though Jake could not see seem to see that as the days passed. Sam wanted desperately for him to know that she was okay. Talking about this pregnancy seemed to rattle him, and it jarred her. She did not want to tempt fate. She would not take a single moment of this for granted, and gushing over it seemed to her, to belittle the blessing underneath her heart."Fine. Really. I just...couldn't find the words. Can we, please, just not?"

Something in her voice begged them to let things go, and blessedly, they did. The subject shifted to the church ladies, and Sam held her breakfast.

* * *

Jake pushed the swing. Louisa hooted in glee. Jake pushed with his other hand, and Margaret swung forward as her sister moved back. Jake repeated the process, lost in thought. He had to do something about his job, and soon. He had to do what he had to do, even if meant taking the girls away from their home, even if it meant ripping away their support circle. He had waited and waited, but the time for waiting was past.

Sam was right behind him when she spoke, "You know I'm okay, right?" Jake didn't stop pushing the swings gently as she continued, "I'm not going to break if you touch me." He didn't see Sam approaching. He didn't even hear her.

Jake couldn't believe this. Not 50 feet away, there was a house full of people intent on visiting even though they all saw each other every day, they had a job crisis to worry about, two kids who kept growing up no matter how he begged them to stay babies, and she was worried about sex."That's your concern right now?"

"I think it says a lot." Sam leaned against the tree, staying close but out of the line of the swing. Her floaty top pushed back against the gentle swell of her body.

Jake pushed again, "Says what?"

He wasn't really surprised that she was bringing this up, now. Sam was always beautiful, was always desirable. Now, though, now sparkled and glowed with it, with the knowledge of the power of her body. He thought, roughly, every thirty five seconds of running his hands over her body, and making her pupils blow wide and her toes curl.

"That you're terrified, and you won't look me in the eye and tell me why." Sam swallowed, "Your hands shake when you touch me and I don't like it."

"It was so hard on you, Sam." Jake broke off as the swing met his hand, each in turn, "And I..."

"Oh, God." Sam laughed, but there was no joy in it, "If you tell me you're responsible for it..."

"No matter how you slice it, you're at risk." Jake blurted, wishing she wouldn't mock him for knowing and asserting the truth. He didn't regret, couldn't make himself regret, that night. "And I hate myself for that, and for wanting this baby."

"I take issue with that statement on so many levels. First of all, I choose. I know what consent is, thank you very much, and I knew what not stopping could mean, and I was fine with that, and I'm trusting you to tell me the truth when you agreed to having this baby. Okay. So just. Be honest."

"I'm trying." Jake forced out, "I just don't understand any of this. You went through so much. There was so much, so much, that I prayed you'd be spared. And it nearly killed me, to be so completely powerless in the face of it all..." Jake did look at her, then, solidly, "And you and I both know that you aren't exactly low risk, even now, Sam. And I wasn't prepared, and I don't think you were, either."

"Nothing is going to happen to me." Sam promised, "Listen. There are people out there who had it way worse than we ever did. There are people for whom all of this, every bit of it, would be a fairytale. I am not going to let you live in fear of anything, let alone something good."

"But it just happened." Jake pushed the swings again, checking that the little seat belts still held tight on the baby swings they'd installed, "It just happened, and I don't understand how we could ever be so..." _Stupid, lucky, normal..._

"I could bore you with the technical details." Sam grinned, "But to tell you the truth, I really think all that matters is that we are where we are. If it had just happened before, who knows what weirdo kids we'd have ended up with?"

The air in his lungs left his noise in a huff, "Sam."

"It's okay to be scared. But I'm healthy. This pregnancy is solid right now. We're good. I'm tired and nauseated, but I'm not passing out. My blood pressure's fine. No bleeding. Not a bit. This is textbook, Jake."

The swings moved away with the gentle push of his wide palms. "It doesn't feel that way."

"Because your only prior experience was filled with things most people never consider..." Sam broke off, when the swings came back. There were some things that their daughters did not need to hear. To them, for now, their birth and their journey to life was nothing but joyous. They did not need to know that their mother had sobbed herself to sleep and borne pain and suffering few would understand, and that their father had once buried himself in work to avoid the fact that he couldn't give his wife the things in life that so many others took for granted, "This is a new sort of normal, Jake. But I promise you, it'll be okay."

"I wish I could believe that." Jake admitted. He wanted completely to believe that he was seeing the truth, that Sam was healthy, that the baby was fine and growing and safe, and that Louisa was Louisa and Margaret was Margaret and that no harm would befall them and that they would always feel safe and happy. He didn't miss the process, the countless doctor's appointments, the daily pills and shots, things like that, but then he'd been prepared and understood.

"Remember back when I thought we'd never have the girls?" Sam brushed hair back from her eyes, the heavy desert"And you told me you'd believe it for both of us, until I could? I'm just going to return the favor, okay?"

Before he could reply, he had to grab the swing, because Louisa was throwing herself down into the grass beneath her swing. She almost got herself kicked in the head. How had she figured out the safety belt? "Hey, woah..." Jake felt his palms smart as he forced both swings to stop.

With some help, Margaret followed suit, and they ran away, towards the dogs. Gal gave a yip, as if to note some alarm at the terrors that were headed her way, and messing up the tranquility of her ranch yard.

Jake turned towards the chatter coming from their daughters,"You do realize that we'll have three kids under three?"

"I hope this one's docile. Calm." Sam laughed. "A nice, calm, obedient, boy."

"Sam." Sam cherished the look of disbelief that crossed his face, "You would rob the world of a girl who's going to set the world on fire so you can sleep?"

"Yes." Sam agreed, "Unreservedly."

"Why?" Jake's eyebrows were nearly in his hair, then. She had never before expressed a gender preference out loud. Sure, she had been utterly terrified that she wasn't going to be a good mother to the girls, but Sam had found that, for all her mistakes, that she was glad that she had found her way, and that her daughters were who they were.

"So Mrs. Braverman will stop asking me when I'm going to give you a son." Sam deadpanned. Poor Mrs. Braverman had stopped her five or six times wondering when she was going to do just that.

Jake was always baffled by statements like that from people. Sam found it endearing, "I like daughters just fine."

Sam saw a blur out of the corner of her eye, and the laughter and the chatter that told her Louisa and Margaret changed. It was telling, and Sam looked quickly to see Louisa trying to sit on her sister, who was sprawled out in the yard.

"Louisa, don't sit on your sister's head!" Sam called out, hurrying across the yard to where the girls had been playing, but were now scuffling, "Head injuries are a challenge you do not need, either of you."

Margaret reeled back to slap her sister in retaliation, but Sam cut that off by picking up them both, "We don't hit."

* * *

Jake was as introverted as he'd ever been, but he'd come to realize something in the last few weeks, as he thought about leaving. He liked being around his family, liked watching the girls play with Cody, liked seeing Cody grow from this tiny baby into a young man who had interests and passions and hopes that were wholly his own. He liked sitting in the arm chair in his parent's den, and just listening to the voices swirl around him.

It was nice to have Seth around. He'd mellowed out over the last few years. He was still a razor sharp lawyer, though, and was currently combing through Sam's contract with Teresa with a fine toothed comb, making notes and mumbling to himself.

After a long moment, he set the final page down. "It does seem standard."

Sam looked up from where she was facilitating coloring with big chunks of homemade crayon she'd made with Cody when he'd barely been older than the twins. "Thanks for looking it over."

"Yeah." Seth replied, "I want somebody, either me or an entertainment lawyer, to be in on any meetings you have with publishers, Sam. You might have a good agent on your side, but you're going to need someone to help you advocate for your own interests."

"Do you think I'd allowed myself to be snowed?" Sam asked, tapping the crayon on the paper in order to grab Margaret attention.

"No, not intentionally." Seth began, and Jake knew that he was being as diplomatic as possible, "But you do need someone looking out for your concerns. You're not the best negotiator in the word, Sam."

Jake tried not to let his expression betray his thoughts when Sam returned, "I am, too."

Seth was never one to forget anything, "You blackmailed a man into selling you a horse he didn't technically own and ended up embroiled in a fake legal battle."

"That wasn't my fault." Sam hastened.

"No, but it does speak to your track record." Seth pointed out, and Jake was glad that he'd stay silent.

Her gaze was thoughtful, "Maybe."

Louisa pulled out another book from the pile she'd been building, and hauled the floppy, soft-covered, book over to his chair. The demand was apparent, "Do you want me to read that to you?"

Louisa shoved it at him, as if to ask him what on earth he could have possibly thought she wanted. "Up."

Jake cuddled her to his side, and opened the book. He put his finger underneath each of the words as he spoke, because it was a good way to keep Louisa's attention, and was also a good way to build early literacy skills. "Corduroy is a bear who once lived in a toy department of a big..."

Out of the corner of his eye, Jake saw Margaret abandoning her crayons. By the time he made it through the third page, she was sitting on his left, and he continued to read the book.

Maxen began to cry from his playpen in the dining room, and Sam went to get him. Seth was still working on her contract, and well, who didn't want to play with Maxen? He was a cheerful kid. Everybody seemed happy. Julia was taking a well earned break, Sam got to cuddle a baby she wasn't responsible for, which was nice, and Seth got to play with legal documents.

Everybody liked _Corduroy. _That much Jake knew, because they also had the box set at home and he could, and had, read the books in his sleep.

Then, just as Corduroy was about to have his happy for now ending, Margaret screamed, and started to cry. Her sob was earsplitting and Jake nearly dropped the book. "What happened?"

He looked around, and finally saw what all the fuss was about, and it sent a bolt of something he could not name down his spine. Louisa was not happy, either. Though she wasn't sobbing like Louisa made a habit of doing, her tiny face was angry and quite set, her eyebrows drawn down in stubborn resolve. Jake tried to pat Margaret's back, but she buried her face in his neck as he stood up. "You are both mad that Mama's holding your cousin?"

Louisa was already across the room, staring very intently at her mother. Sam, for her part, didn't put down Maxen, or shift him off on his father. "You need to use your words. Why are you upset?"

"Mine!" She wailed, wanting no part of Jake now that she seemed to have cried herself out and found words.

Seth made a move towards setting down his legal pads and standing up. Jake shook his head. The kids needed to work this one out, themselves. Seth solving it neatly for them wouldn't let them have a chance to learn anything.

He was very glad no one was looking at him when Louisa demanded, "Put away! Put away!"

"I can't do that. He's a baby, not a toy." Given that Maxen was awake, and quite interested in all of the screaming and the yelling and the sobbing and the angst, Sam turned him around, "Look, he just wants to play."

Jake set Margaret down, and she nearly fell over her own feet to get to where Sam was sitting on the edge of the couch.

The girls pressed into Sam's legs, wholly ignoring the baby on her lap, even though he was quite interested in them, reaching out with flailing arms. "There's always room for everybody."

Louisa scowled, and wrinkled her nose. Margaret looked pensive.

Seth spoke, "I think nobody wants to S-H-A-R-E with a B-A-B-Y."

Jake rolled his eyes at his brother. Finally, he figured out some way to speak without a knot of fear coloring his voice, "We like spending time with Maxen."

Louisa huffed. Clearly her old man was told to shut up. What did he know, anyway? They liked him fine, when he wasn't hogging their mother. They mostly ignored him, but Jake didn't think that was odd, considering they'd spent most of their lives ignoring each other.

Margaret decided she would speak for them both. Her words were garbled, because they weren't quite yet two, but Jake got the point. She glared at him, "Not his Mama! 'gret's Mama! 'isa's too."

Sam bit her lip. Jake tried not to let his face waver from sympathetic understanding, because Margaret had hastened to add her sister as though she'd almost forgotten to add her in her precise description of just exactly who Sam belonged to, and was therefore allowed to cuddle. "That's true. But I like to play with Maxen too, and babies like to sit on laps. You two are big girls and you both can understand that sometimes somebody else can hug Mama. Cody hugs Mama, doesn't he? And you don't yell and scream at him, do you?"

Louisa clearly decided that this was a matter in which talking was overrated, because she climbed up onto the sofa, and sat against Sam, staring at her cousin. Sam kissed the top of her wild hair. "See, that's a good idea. We can all sit together."

Very pointedly, she looked at Margaret, and asked, "Would you like to sit up here, too, Margaret?"

"Yes." She allowed, settling very quickly against Sam's left arm. After giving a very put upon sigh, she demanded, "Daddy!"

"Yes?" Jake wondered where she and Louisa were going with this, because he could see a bit of twin-only communication going on between them.

After a second's glance, Louisa declared, "'axen wants _'ordroy's 'ocket. _You read."

"Please." Sam prompted.

"Please?" Louisa pressed, looking for all the world as though she had worked so hard that she had to flop against her mother's side, and stick her thumb in her mouth.

Jake decided to do as he was told.

Seth laughed. "Maxen can hug poor Aunt Sam so long as he does exactly as he's told. Isn't that right, girls?"

Over the heads of the children in the room, Sam stuck out her tongue at Seth.

* * *

That night, Jake had a nightmare. He couldn't remember its content or sequence, but he woke up feeling ill at ease. He thought maybe he was still dealing with feelings of guilt, about the baby. He did feel guilty, and no amount of Sam telling him it wasn't a normal response was going to change it. He just had to feel what he felt.

He found himself at the barn, working through chores, after chugging down some coffee and setting out some water and some buttered bread for Sam. She wasn't telling him much, but he hoped she'd soon be beyond her morning sickness. He'd decided, upon seeing her pale face against their faded pillowcases, that today was the day. He couldn't right every wrong with his job, couldn't change reality, but he could, and would, take steps forward to forge something better in the future.

Dad snuck up on him around 4:45 in the feed room. "You're up early."

"I couldn't sleep." Jake allowed, pouring grain into a bucket. "Seemed a good time as any to work rather than just..."

Dad seemed to understand. Emboldened, Jake asked, "Have you ever only had one option, and you knew it was the only thing to do was to do it, but something kept holding you back?"

"Jake..." Dad began, shaking out his own saddle blanket, "There's never just one choice."

"You can say that, but..." Jake tried. He couldn't tell his father about the enormity of what he was facing, the obligations he had to meet, obligations that seemed to be at war with each other. He couldn't find the words to explain his conflicting wants and needs. He needed a job, needed to see that there was food on the table, even as he wanted their table to stay here.

"Sometimes you just have to do one thing without knowing what comes next." Dad advised, "You can make one choice without knowing your next steps."

"What makes you so sure?" Jake gripped the handle so hard he was sure his knuckles were bloodless.

"I had twice the number of kids you do when I finally decided I thought it was time to ranch full time, and your grandmother was against it. You know how she was about things." Dad pointed out, "And I don't know what it is you're planning, and you've never asked for help, but you're not choosing between happiness and starvation, all right? Nothing is ever so dire."

Jake couldn't suck in air, "Dad..."

"Just go to work, Jake." Dad pressed, "Come home, and actually talk to Sam. You'll feel better. Mom and I'll mind the girls for you for a while."

Knowing better than to whine that he didn't want to go, Jake did just that, after changing a few diapers and putting the girls into bed with Sam and a few books. They'd cuddle a while before Sam peeled herself out of bed.

He hated going to work anymore. He dreaded it. His relationship with his partner was strained, and that was being kind, given that the guy had gone on vacation last week, but not before cleaning out his desk and clapping Jake on the shoulder. The guy found reasons to be a swing partner for anyone else he possibly could, even before citing a need for a vacation. It seemed as though nobody wanted to work with him. Nobody accepted him here.

Jake supposed he could blame a lot of things. He could blame getting off on the wrong foot. He could blame his prior role here with CCSO. He could blame his age. He could blame the weeks he'd spent on paternity leave. Mostly, though, Jake knew those were hollow excuses.

He wasn't about to blame his name, either. But it didn't help that his father was his father, or worse, that his grandfather was his grandfather. On his mother's side, too, his Gramps had been involved in politics and the fire department. It didn't help.

His biggest issue, though, was his own damn reputation. They all thought he was a solid guy, but a loner. Men he had known in high school still saw him as that smart, too old for his age, kid with a penchant for skirting the the law. Jake hadn't known it then, and he wouldn't have cared, but he and Sam were legendary in the department, and not always in the best of ways. Ballard had alluded to it back when he'd been out here with Lewis, but Jake had hardly paid that mind at the time.

That whole thing with Linc was also a factor. He hadn't followed orders, he'd followed leads. It hadn't helped him make the transition very well, because he'd gone and proven he'd ignore the laws he'd sworn to uphold in defense of what he believed, not what he had been told to do. Nobody, not even West and LeBeau, had told him he was a rule breaker. He was, though. He was a rule breaker.

At this point, though, Jake was about ready to embrace the label. He wasn't a cog in a machine, and if Ballard didn't trust him to run his own cases, within the law, then they had bigger problems than just the fact that he was constantly getting pulled in and questioned like he was some little boy here earning a Merit badge.

Jake was tired of being made an example of in this squad room, so when Ballard yelled his name, he waited an extra ten seconds before shutting his computer and rising. It was petty, but he did not need to see the speculative looks flying. He picked up his coffee mug, and walked into Ballard's office, a letter burning a hole in his pocket.

Jake felt Ballard's eyes on him before he even shut the door behind him. "Sit down, Ely."

Jake wondered what he'd done that was so terrible this week. It hadn't been delivering PFA documents, as it had been months ago, and it surely hadn't been retracing the steps of a guy who'd stolen machinery parts from his boss, only to discover that the guy hadn't been paid in three months. That had been last week. He was constantly bing told that he was too involved, for the same reasons that West had once told him might one day make him a passable cop.

"I've got some news." Ballard began, and Jake knew that this was the end. His jacket was spread out on the man's worn desk, and Jake saw the writing on the wall. At the very least he could... Jake did not know what he would do. He was too proud to take unemployment, and he wasn't going to drag the union into something like this.

"Let me save you the trouble." Jake asserted, "I'm partnerless, and you can't see the point in keeping me on when you and I both know that something isn't working here."

Ballard blinked at him, the single drop of his eyelids hiding something in his eyes. "How did you know that Lymon had requested a transfer?"

"The fact that he's used up his PTO and cleaned out his desk is a pretty good indicator." Jake explained. He did not tell Ballard that Lymon had clapped him on the shoulder and muttered something about grabbing a drink sometime before he left on his vacation. "Did he give a reason?"

"If he didn't give one to you..." Ballard began, but sighed and allowed, "You're a liability. You're single-minded, and you intimidated..." Ballard cleared his throat, "I've wracked my brain."

Jake did not know what to say to that. He was hard working, earnest, and dogged, yes. But to think that someone had had the nerve to say that he intimidated victims and was too single-minded to see the bigger picture was laughable and insulting. It made him want to punch something. He had done nothing but advocate for victims since he set foot in this office. He'd tried to do the right thing, even when the cards had been stacked against him.

He stayed silent. He knew his silence was telling. He didn't even care that Ballard was reading him like a book. There was a saying in Darton county. _A quiet Ely is a loaded spring. _His worst arguments with Sam, he'd stood there until she was done yelling, and said "You done?" And they'd sat there in silence until somebody said something to change it. Jake had been annoyed at her, but now, now in this, he was pissed. He was pissed. To be hauled in here, and basically told that, in all of this, he was the one in the wrong, he was the one who was a liability.

"You can't change who you are." Ballard declared, his hard eyes never wavering from Jake's face. "As it stands no one in this department is..."

"So I'm the problem here?" Jake blurted. It was one thing to quit, it was one thing to be fired, but it was another to be told that no one wanted to work with him. He'd payed his dues, he knew how to do his job.

"Off the record, you're good at what you do." Even Ballard's compliments couldn't be on the record, Jake thought, hotly. "But you're not a team player, Jake. You step on toes..."

"We all have the same goals." People needed to stop being so hurt over doing what needed to be done, "We work towards those goals. Far as I'm concerned, people need to check their egos at the door."

"That is enough." Ballard's voice was quiet, but it cracked like a whip, "I've half a mind to fire you. I would too, if I thought for one second you didn't honestly believe in putting the people we serve above everything else, even your own damn skin and likability, which of course you don't give a crap about."

Jake spoke the honest truth. "I'm happy working solo."

"I'm not in the business of making you happy. You're getting a new partner, and the two of you are going for six weeks of joint training. You're going to spend every day working together until you're a team."

"What?" Jake wasn't about to just give up his cases to spend weeks doing nothing. He was trained, thank you. He had ongoing cases. He wanted to be at home with Sam and the girls and the baby. He wasn't going anywhere. He couldn't leave them, even if it meant staying here.

Ballard replied like they were talking over the news, "He's a bit young, a little inexperienced, but very eager."

"Do you think pairing me with a rookie is a good idea? I'm..." Despite what Ballard thought, Jake was not blind to his own faults. He wasn't about to hold some rookie's hand, and he wasn't the best person to teach someone what they needed to know to be successful in this department.

"On your last leg in this department, closure rate or no." Ballard pulled the cap off of his pen, "You make this work, or you're out of here. I will make absolutely certain that not a soul will hire you if you so much as step on your partner's feet once, you understand?"

Jake felt a feeling of coolness suffuse his body as his fingers brushed the letter in his pocket.

* * *

Sam looked at her wash on the line. She had exactly one pair of jeans that fit, and they were the maternity jeans on her body. She was back down to leggings and skirts. Sam regretted bitterly giving her maternity clothes away. She would have to shop again. She longed for the comfort of that blouse she'd given away.

It was a day off school so that the school district could end on the day they chose, and so Max was hanging wash on the line next to her. "How is your writing coming?"

Sam thought over the last few days of work. Her morning sickness had abated a little in the last 48 hours, and she'd found that she had stores of energy. Her writing came in huge waves right now, and she just had to ride them out. "Pretty good..." She was working on editing what had become the second book.

"And what does your brand new agent say?" Max was very excited that one of her own was important enough to have an agent, though Sam tried to put some reality back into Max's perspective.

"She's confident I'm ready." Sam bit her lip, "I keep finding things I want to change."

"Sam, that book has been a formal manuscript since before she saw it. I know that you did huge rewrites, but even know, it's polished."

"The first book of the series..." Sam's stomach gave a swoop. It was nerves, not morning sickness. She had actually written two books, and was deep in the process of writing the third. It was surreal. "Is done, and on Teresa's desk." Actually, it was up for bid now, or would be very soon. Sam wasn't making that fact public, even to Max, not yet. Max would go wild with that knowledge.

"And you're going to bring Seth with you, right?" Max asked, "When you have a publisher with whom to negotiate?"

"He does environmental law. I don't know..." Sam just didn't know if she looked like a doofus. Teresa had her back, certainly, and Sam was almost certain that her book was going to auction. Teresa was confident that she had several nibbles. Sam wasn't holding her breath, but several big publishers, Teresa said, were interested, and the best way to handle that was an auction. Sam didn't yet know what type. Sam didn't quite understand the differences between rolling bids and best offer bids. She was contented to concern herself, not with money, but with who best would treat the Phantom's story.

It wasn't like she thought her books would make any money anyway. She wrote because it gave her a sense of purpose, a sense of contribution to the world, beyond her home and her horses and her children. "I don't want to act like the Queen of Sheba."

Max huffed. "Better you understand your worth and protect your work than getting taken for a ride by some shark who sees you coming a mile away."

Sam rolled her eyes, and pinned yet another sundress to the line. Why did everyone keep saying that she slid into trouble faster than some kind of baseball player? "That's why I have Teresa to help me with this part."

"Is she going to negotiate your publicity?" Max was on a roll, "How about your..."

"Mom." Sam forced her words through a sigh, "It is just a book, not the movie rights, and before you ask, I don't think it's going to spawn a huge fandom and internet sites devoted to my stories, okay? It's just a book. For now, it's just a book. My only goal is to get a copy in the school libraries in Nevada. That's it."

"Honey..." Max stuck a pin over a towel, "You just wait. You just wait. You'll be glad you listened to me and took your brother. You will. You'll see."

"And then what?" Sam asked, half worried, half annoyed.

"You'll say, 'Max, you were right, you wonderful woman, you.' And I will say, 'I was, indeed I was.' And then you'll take me to lunch."

Sam couldn't help it. She laughed.

* * *

Sam wasn't laughing a few hours later. Jake's hands shook as the dealer handed him the keys. Sam gave him a funny look when the man turned his back, "Are you feeling okay?"

The dealer laughed as he passed Jake a second set of keys and a folder full of documents. "I once had a man pass out when he got his keys. His son had to come and collect him."

Sam rubbed an itchy spot on the top of her nearly discernible bump. Something wasn't right. Jake wasn't himself. He was bursting with something. Quinn had dropped them off at the dealer, and then Jake wanted to go somewhere. Luke had Louisa and Margaret with him. They were going to go do something with Dad and Cody. This wasn't unusual, exactly, but something about Jake's body language was screaming something at her.

They played nice with the dealer until they were inside the cab of the truck. Sam understood the need for a new car. At least this one had XM radio. She liked that, liked the 90s country station and sometimes the Y2K one. Max clucked that she was putting radio out of business, but Sam did make an effort to listen to local ag radio everyday. Her Volvo had a fancy radio, and now she found it was a luxury she could not live without, even if reception was often spotty. "You're jumpy."

"I've got something to show you." Jake admitted as they got on the interstate, "And then we can go for dinner if you want."

"Sure, yeah." Sam agreed, "But I really want to know what happened at work today."

Jake tilted an eyebrow at her, "What makes you think something happened?" He was driving towards his work, towards the few restaurants they had on this side of the county. She wasn't up for driving three hours to hit a Cracker Barrel.

Sam blinked, leaning against the seat of the truck. It was a two seater. They could fit three car seats and two adults in the truck. Sam was glad, for that reason alone, that she was carrying one baby. They couldn't fit another one in the truck, or the house.

"I was, at one point, a decent investigative reporter." Sam archly informed her husband, "I know when you're acting funny, and I also know where you were keeping your resignation letter. It's gone. So either you tore it up or you handed it in. Either way, I want to know."

"Snooper." Jake teased.

"Actually, I was dusting." Sam shot back, "If I were snooping, I'd ask you why you had a jewelry receipt in your jeans a few weeks back."

Jake bit his lip, as though he was trying not to laugh. "Darrell didn't trust himself to throw that away."

"He shouldn't have trusted you, either." Sam did laugh, then. It was nice to know that Ally was on the right track, and that, soon, she wouldn't be her only married friend. She did think, despite what Paul asserted, that Jim and Sarah were about six weeks away from getting engaged. Jim wanted to be settled at work, and Sarah wanted to be settled in with her MSW before planning a wedding.

"Maybe I wanted you to find that." Jake returned, "Ever consider that fact?"

"No." Sam mused. She hadn't, but it made sense. Jake would never want to keep a secret this big, and he couldn't use words to tell her if he promised Darrell he wouldn't say anything.

"And anyway, you know you're going to have to plan that thing." Jake offered, as though he was apologizing for not telling her himself, "Huge Catholic wedding. They'd be lost without you, and your planning skills."

"So you were sneakily preparing me to know that Ally is being proposed to, and I should hint that she get her nails done?" Sam asked. Jake had learned quite a lot, and he was a helpful friend.

Sam shouldn't have held high hopes that he cared any more about things like nails than she did. Hers were mostly ragged and broken to the quick. "What do her nails have to do with it?"

Sam remembered shortly after their marriage had come out, how many people had stopped her for no other reason that to pull at her left hand and talk about Grandma. "Remember when we were stupid idiots and ran off and got married and then stupidly told people and they grabbed at my hands to coo like doves over my grimy, chipped, ranch hand hands?"

"No?" Jake ventured.

"Well, Ally will want her nails pristine when she gets photos taken and her hands pulled out of their sockets." Sam summarized.

Jake pulled to a stop in front of a wide building. It was clapboard, and wasn't too far from his office. It was attached to the big lots where the county parked cars and had the Extension office. Jake shut off the truck, and exited the cab. Sam rotated and looked down at the ground, clambering down carefully. Jake put a hand on her elbow. Sam took the chance to inform him, "Do you know what they say about men who have jacked up, shiny trucks?"

Jake's hand slid from her elbow to grasp her hand, "What?"

Sam snorted, "That they're compensating for a small, dull, something, with a big, shiny something."

"Jesus, Sam."

"I'm just saying that's what people say, okay?" Sam bit her lip, "I never said it had any basis in fact, only that it was something that people say."

"Well, thank you for the tip." Jake blandly held open the side door through which Sam proceeded, "You want to take it mudding or something?"

"Or something." Sam agreed. They were inside a barn, for lack of a better word. This was an entry way, yes, but there was something about this space that told her animals lived here. Maybe he had found a horse that needed rescuing? Sam was always on board for another horse, especially if the ASPCA had called upon her and Trudy. The county barns weren't too far from here, but Sam had never visited a horse her. "But first you have to find Fetus O'Fetus food because I ate all of the goldfish I had in my bag at the dealers."

Jake grinned, "Aren't you curious why we're here?"

"Yes." Sam enunciated, "Tell me, tell me." They came around a corner, and Sam saw a desk. There was a woman in jeans there, and Sam resisted the urge to stomp her feet and glare at Jake. He looked so satisfied, that some plan of his hadn't fallen through on him.

Sam knew he had planned the timing down to a T. He went to the desk and spoke, "Jake Ely. I'm here to see..."

"So glad to see you." The woman at the desk stood up, and closed her book, "Sheriff said you'd be along! And you brought your wife, very smart really. So many people..." She paused as she stepped around the large desk, and led them back past a door. "Well, come along this way, please."

The woman, who introduced herself as Sally, left them alone for a long moment. Sam realized that they were standing inside, not a barn, but a kennel. A dog kennel. Before Sally returned, who Sam realized was related to Mrs. Joseph at church, who worked at the school district office, Sam very harshly whispered, "If you've gone and gotten a puppy, I swear to God in heaven..."

"So you're telling me, if I happened to know of an overly excitable, well mannered, puppy who desperately needed someone to love them that you'd leave it here..." At the look of dawning realization on her face, Jake smiled.

He knew better than anybody that she was a sucker for an animal in need. She had a barn full of them. What was one more, really? And anyway, a puppy might be good practice for the girls as they got ready for the baby. It sounded more fun that modeling big sister behavior with a baby doll.

Jake chuckled as Sally returned. On a leash, she led a very adorable German Shepard puppy. He had not yet grown into his feet, and he tripped once as he bounded along. Sam smiled and Sally laughed as he quickly found his footing. She quietly said, "Sitz."

He sat, and looked very serious. He looked so proud, even as his little limbs sprawled as though he couldn't quite manage his limbs yet. His little gaze was sharp, though, and focused in a way that spoke greatly of his promise. This dog was no pet. Sally praised the dog, "Zei Brav!"

And then Sam knew, she knew, and the knowledge lifted her soul. Her heart beat quickly as she felt Jake's palm slick over. "I take it this is your new partner?"

Sally spoke, "He will be, when he's a little bigger. For now, he's hanging out with Miss Sally learning all his commands." She patted his fluffy head and perky ears, "Elys, meet Boomer."

The little puppy with the big ears and feet tilted his head. Sam looked at his little face, and her heart was lost, "Boomer has been waiting to meet you."

Stealing a quick look at Jake's face, Sam knew that the opposite was equally as true. Jake, though they hadn't known it, had been waiting a long time for him, too.

**Expect an update soon, please! I'm finally feeling better. Labral tears are terrible hip injuries. If you're an equestrian, take care of your hips! **

**Yes, Boomer has entered into this verse, as has Mrs. Braverman, but that's about the extent of the crossovers. **

**Please also note that Jake's perceptions are very subjective, and more clarity will be available soon. Sam's getting a book published, soon! I had to rewrite this chapter four times, because at first, this new baby was the source of much marital discord, and it just didn't ring true. Even though Jake is dealing with a lot of emotional stuff due to his work, I think ultimately, his family is a bright spot for him. **


End file.
